


Cursed Christmas

by sahiya



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Bruce Banner Is a Good Bro, Caretaking, Christmas, Gen, Hurt Pepper Potts, Hurt Tony Stark, Hurt/Comfort, Ironfam Christmas, James "Rhodey" Rhodes is a Good Bro, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Not Spider-Man: Far From Home Compliant, Parent Tony Stark, Plotty hurt/comfort, Protective Pepper Potts, Protective Peter Parker, Protective Tony Stark, Sick Morgan Stark, Sick Peter Parker, Sickfic, That is totally a thing, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Lives, do not copy to another site
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:54:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21959185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sahiya/pseuds/sahiya
Summary: A series of unfortunate events befalls Tony, Pepper, Peter, and Morgan (and Happy and May) in the week leading up to Christmas.It'd be kind of funny if it didn't totally suck. Fortunately, they've got good back-up.
Relationships: Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe), Peter Parker & Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe) & Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Pepper Potts & Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe) & Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 59
Kudos: 376





	Cursed Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas, everyone! Gahhhhh, remind me to start my Christmas fic before December 15th next year. I wrote most of this in the last, like, four days. In my defense, I drastically underestimated how long this would be. 
> 
> Thanks to Fuzzyboo for beta reading this as I wrote it so I could just post it.

“That’s it,” Tony said with an exhausted sigh. “We’re canceling Christmas before someone ends up dead.”

“Noooo,” Peter moaned. “You can’t. Mo will be so upset.”

“Pete, this entire holiday is obviously cursed.”

“Well, then you _really_ can’t cancel it,” Peter argued. He would have sounded more persuasive if he hadn’t looked like death warmed over, or had an IV going into his right arm. “Because if you do, they win.”

“Who wins?”

“Whoever cursed us!”

“Pete, I don’t think anyone actually cursed us.” Tony pinched the bridge of his nose. His head was throbbing in time with the place where his prosthesis usually met his arm. He couldn’t have a painkiller for another twenty minutes, and at the moment that felt like an eternity. He wanted to sleep for about a year––or at the very least, until _next_ year.

“They could have,” Peter pointed out. “Magic is real. We should talk to Dr. Strange.”

Tony cast Bruce a helpless look. “I think Tony is right, Peter,” Bruce said, futzing with Peter’s IV line. “I think you all have just had a truly horrendous run of bad fortune. And while I’d never arguing for canceling Christmas, in this case, I might recommend delaying it for a few days. Just until you’re all feeling better.”

“Happy and May will have made it back by then,” Tony pointed out. “Hopefully,” he amended, since he did not feel like testing his luck.

“S’not fair,” Peter mumbled. “It’s _Christmas_ , you can’t just cancel it.”

Tony vented a deep sigh. “Then... let’s just play it by ear. We’ll see how we’re doing tomorrow. How does that sound? Acceptable?”

“I guess,” Peter said reluctantly. Tony glanced up at Bruce and gestured toward the throw at the foot of the bed. Bruce helped him get it spread out over Peter, and Tony threaded his fingers into the kid’s hair. Peter burrowed down as best he could, considering he had to keep one arm out for the IV. His breathing evened out slowly, until Tony was pretty sure he was asleep. 

Bruce was eyeing him, Tony realized after a few seconds. “What?” Tony asked testily. 

“Nothing. Just––I mean, it _is_ possible...”

“Don’t you start,” Tony grumbled, and took his glasses off to rub his eyes. 

“I’m just saying, a call to Strange wouldn’t kill you.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I think it might.” Tony shook his head. “It’s just bad luck, like you said.”

“ _Really_ bad luck.” 

“Yes,” Tony was forced to agree. “ _Really_ bad luck.” The worst luck, actually. 

Seriously. Even if Peter didn’t want to hear it, even if Morgan would be devastated, canceling the damn holiday was the only sane thing to do at this point. 

***

FOUR DAYS EARLIER

***

“What do you mean, your plane is delayed?”

Tony lifted his head. He’d been fiddling with plans for the next iteration of Rhodey’s braces at his worktable in the kitchen. Peter’s voice had suddenly gone high and distressed, and Tony could see that he’d gotten up from the sofa to pace. 

“But it’s Christmas, May!”

Tony waved away his holograms, stepping toward the living room. This did not sound great. 

“What if Tony sent a jet? We’ll figure something out, we’re not just going to give up on––” Peter cut off, and Tony saw him wipe his eyes. “Yeah,” he mumbled after a long silence. “Yeah. Okay.” He held the phone out to Tony. “She wants to talk to you.”

Tony accepted the phone. “Pete—”

Peter didn’t wait for him to finish, just ran up the stairs. Tony listened to the door to Peter’s room open and shut and then held the phone to his ear. “Hi May.”

“Hi Tony,” May replied, sounding exhausted. 

“What’s going on?”

“I don’t know if you’ve been watching the news”—he hadn’t been—“but there is a massive snowstorm hitting Europe. One of those bomb cyclones like we had in the city a few years back. Not just snow but a lot of wind as well. All flights everywhere have been canceled until the twenty-sixth at least.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah.”

“Did Happy talk to Fury about a Quinjet?”

“Fury is not picking up the phone for Happy. He just called and talked to Pepper, but they didn’t think the SI jet would be able to handle the weather even if we could find a place for it to land.”

“Yeah.” Tony pinched the bridge of his nose. “When’s it supposed to hit?”

“Late tonight. We’ve had about six inches of snow so far, and London has already ground to a halt.”

“Well, at least it’s romantic?” Tony tried. “Nice, cozy honeymoon in Europe, all snowed in?”

“Oh sure, very romantic until the power goes out,” May said dryly. “Don’t get me wrong, the trip’s been great, but I was ready to see my kid and spend Christmas at home.”

“Well, I’m going to try Fury. I’d like to see him ignore _my_ calls.”

“Good luck. Keep us in the loop.”

“Will do. Need anything else? You got a hotel room for the duration in case I can’t work my magic?”

“Oh yeah, we’re okay,” May said. “We’re probably the most comfortable people in the city right now.” She sighed. “Hug our kid for me, will you? Make sure he has a good Christmas. But don’t let him open his gifts from me before I get home!”

Tony had to smile. “You got it.”

He disconnected and immediately texted Fury. _Hey Nick, remember that time I almost died saving the universe and lost my arm?_

Fury texted back almost immediately. _What do you want, Stark?_

_Temporary use of a Quinjet._

_No can do. They’re all in use for missions right now. I don’t know if you noticed, being retired and all, but the world is barely holding together. I can’t pull one just because the kid’s aunt is stranded in Europe._

Tony decided he didn’t want to know how Fury already knew what the issue was. Besides, as loathe as Tony was to admit it, Fury wasn’t wrong. The world _was_ barely holding together, even if Tony tried not to know more than he had to about what was going on. His grip on retirement was tenuous at best, but he was trying for the sake of everyone who loved him and had been terrified by his brush with death. These days, he tried to channel his energies into other things––like the holiday surprise currently sitting under a cover in his garage. 

_Bah humbug, is that it?_ he wrote back to Fury, because he just couldn’t resist needling him.

_Believe what you want. I’m no Scrooge. I would if I could._

Tony almost believed him. He told Fury to let him know if anything changed, then texted May the bad news. He set his phone down and crossed his arms over his chest, staring at the Christmas tree in the living room. They’d put it up over the weekend, after Peter had come home from MIT.

This was going to be rough. Tony knew how much Peter loved Christmas, and how much he’d been looking forward to May coming home. She’d been gone for an entire month, since her and Happy’s day-after-Thanksgiving wedding, and even though Peter had been away at school for most of that time, it had been hard. 

Tony decided a little hot chocolate might help ease the bitterness. He made two mugs and carried them upstairs. 

He grabbed both handles carefully with his vibranium hand and knocked with his other. “Pete? Can I come in?”

A sigh. “Yeah.”

Tony opened the door. Peter was lying on his back on the bed, staring up at a hologram of the next iteration of the Iron Spider suit. Peter waved it away and rolled onto his side. He looked at Tony. 

“Hot chocolate?” Tony offered. 

Peter sighed again. “Sure, why not.” He sat up. 

Tony sat down next to him on the bed and handed him his mug. Peter took a sip. “Good?” Tony asked. 

Peter nodded. He was quiet for a moment, staring down into the melting swirl of marshmallows. “She’s not making it back in time, is she?”

Tony decided there was no point in sugarcoating it. “It doesn’t look like it, no. The SI jet can’t handle the weather, and all the Quinjets are in use, or so Fury claims. But it’s only supposed to last until the twenty-sixth. I promise you that as soon as the jet can land in London, I’ll send it to pick her up.”

Peter bit his lip. “I was really looking forward to seeing her.”

“I know, kid.”

Peter was silent again for a while. “I’m kind of mad at her,” he finally said, sounding guilty. “I know it isn’t fair, it’s not like anyone knew this was gonna happen, but they had a whole _month_. Did they have to push it right up against Christmas? Couldn’t they have come home just a couple days sooner?”

Tony hesitated briefly. “I know it’s really disappointing, Pete,” he finally said. “And frustrating, too. But there’s no point in throwing a temper tantrum over a snowstorm, and May knows it. And take it from me, the nicest hotel suddenly _sucks_ if you’d rather be somewhere else. She misses you like crazy, kid, I promise.”

“I know,” Peter said, only a little sullen. “I’m just... bummed.”

“It’s okay to be bummed. I’d offer to delay things until she gets back, but Morgan has been diligently opening her Spiderman advent calendar all month, and she knows exactly when the big day is. I’m not sure any of us would survive trying to hold off even one extra day.”

Peter shook his head. “No, no, I definitely don’t want that.”

“We’ll have a good time, kid.”

Peter smiled weakly. “I know we will. I just need to sulk for a bit first.”

“Fair enough. You want company in your sulking?”

“Not right now. Maybe later.”

“Okay.” Tony kissed Peter on the head and left him to it, trusting the kid to come and find him when he was ready. 

Peter’s sulking didn’t last long. He was a resilient kid; as sad as he was about May, Tony knew he was still happy to be spending the holiday with him and Pepper and Morgan. By the time Pepper and Morgan arrived home that evening, Peter had emerged from his room and was helping Tony make dinner. He tagged along when Tony went out to haul Gerald in for the night, and then all four of them played a few rounds of Candyland before Morgan went to bed. 

“We gotta make sure he has a great Christmas,” Tony told Pepper that night, in that sleepy, intimate time, after they’d turned off the lights but before they both fell asleep. “He was so sad about May not making it home in time.”

“We will,” Pepper murmured, sounding less than half awake. 

“Think we need to up our decoration game,” Tony mumbled. “Maybe tomorrow...”

“Tomorrow,” Pepper agreed, and they both fell asleep. 

***

The next thing Tony knew, he was awake and didn’t know why. Then he heard someone say in a low voice, “Hey, Tony?”

“Pete?” Tony propped himself up on one arm, rubbing a hand over his face. “What’s the matter?”

“Morgan’s sick.”

Tony sat up in a hurry. “What? What happened?”

“She threw up in her bed.”

“Shit,” Tony said, getting up. 

“What’s going on?” Pepper asked sleepily. 

“Morgan threw up,” Tony said, pulling on his bathrobe. “I’ve got this, go back to sleep. I know you’ve got to be in the city in the morning, and if she sees you, she’ll never let you go.”

Pepper didn’t look happy, but they both knew Tony was right. “Okay. But if you need me, wake me, all right? I’ve done meetings on no-sleep before.”

Morgan was sitting on the floor in the Jack-and-Jill bathroom she and Peter shared. Peter had changed her into fresh pajamas and wrapped her in the quilt off his own bed. She looked up and saw Tony and immediately burst into tears. “I th-threw up,” she sobbed, reaching for him. 

“I heard, baby.” Tony sat down on the floor with her. “How are you feeling now?”

“Bad,” she whimpered. He felt her forehead and winced. 

“Pete, could you—” Peter was already handing him the temple thermometer from the medicine cabinet. “Thanks.” Tony ran it across her forehead and down to her temple. It beeped and he glanced at the readout. 102.2. “Okay, you’ve definitely got a bit of a fever. Do you think you’re gonna throw up again?”

“Maybe. I don’t feel good.” She lay her head on his shoulder, and Tony rubbed a hand across her back. She felt so small and vulnerable in his arms. Not to mention _warm_.

“Want me it see if we have any ginger ale?” Peter asked. 

“That’d be great, Pete. But, um, don’t feel like you have to stay up—the guest bedroom is made up downstairs, if it’d be easier for you to sleep down there. I think we’re going to be in here for a while yet.”

“I’m okay. Not like I’ve got anywhere to be tomorrow.” He disappeared toward the stairs. 

Morgan threw up twice more before Peter returned with ginger ale in a sippy cup. She was clinging to Tony like a baby koala, face hidden in his neck, but when Peter asked if it was okay if he came in and sat down, she nodded wordlessly. It took some coaxing, but eventually she drank a little ginger ale. 

“Good job, baby,” Tony said. “We’ll try a little bit more in a bit, all right?”

She nodded, sniffling. “My bed’s all yucky now.”

“That’s okay, we can change the sheets.”

She sniffled again. “I yelled for you and Mommy but you didn’t hear me.”

“I’m sorry, kiddo,” Tony sighed. He wished, not for the first time, that he’d taken the time to wire FRIDAY throughout the entire house. It’d seemed unnecessary when they’d first moved in, since she was integrated into all of their various devices, but then something like this happened. “I’m really glad Peter heard you, though. He took good care of you, didn’t he?”

She nodded. “Thanks, Peter,” she whispered. 

“Anytime, Mo-Mo,” Peter said, and offered her his fist. She bumped it with her own and even smiled a little. _Thank you_ , Tony mouthed to Peter over her head. Peter shrugged.

Morgan’s stomach settled a little once she’d had some ginger ale, and she was able to eat a couple of crackers. By the time Pepper got up the next morning, they’d decamped to the living room and the foldout sofa. Peter had found videos of puppies and kittens playing in living rooms that were decorated for Christmas and put them on a loop for Morgan to stare at glassily while she clutched a cup of ginger ale. Peter was curled up with her, reading something on his StarkPad and rubbing her back absently with one hand.

“Good morning,” Pepper said, looking as impeccable as ever. Tony felt distinctly schlubby by comparison in his pajamas, with an MIT sweatshirt on top that Peter had stolen from him years ago. Tony’d needed to steal it back after Morgan had thrown up on him. “How’s the patient?”

“Not great,” Tony said, glancing over at her. She was so out of it that she hadn’t even noticed Pepper’s appearance in the kitchen. “Her fever’s dipped a little bit since she was able to keep down some Tylenol, but I think we’re in for a day on the couch. What have you got on tap?”

“Meetings, meetings, and more meetings,” Pepper said. “But I’m hoping I’ll be home by nine, and I shouldn’t have to go back until after New Year’s.”

Tony nodded. The one really not great thing about living at the lake house was Pepper’s commute, which was close to four hours each way. She was able to work a lot in the car, and she spent at least one or two nights a week in the city, so they made it work. But every time something like this happened, Tony thought about moving back. Now that Morgan was older, maybe it was time to get serious about it. 

Pepper went and sat next to Morgan while Tony made her a travel mug of coffee and a smoothie. Morgan crawled into her lap and curled up into a ball, looking as though she’d be quite happy to stay there all day. 

Unfortunately, that just wasn’t in the cards. Pepper’s driver arrived right on schedule, and it was time for her to go if she was going to make her first meeting. Morgan burst into tears and clutched at Pepper’s blouse. Tony could see Pepper getting a little teary herself, so he carefully extracted Morgan and handed her over to Peter while he chivvied Pepper out the door. 

“I feel like a terrible mother,” Pepper said as Tony walked her out to the car. “Maybe I should just cancel all my meetings and stay. What are they going to do, fire me?”

“Pep, don’t do this,” Tony said. “You’re a great mom, and Morgan’s got me and Pete to do her bidding all day.”

Pepper took a deep breath. “You’re right, I know you’re right, I just... it’s hard when she gets so upset.”

“I know. But I’ve got this, I swear. Tie up all your loose ends so you can enjoy your time off.”

Pepper nodded. “Thanks.” She kissed Tony and climbed into the car. Tony shut the door and watched until the car disappeared around the first bend in the long driveway. 

Morgan was still sniffling when Tony came back inside, but Peter had successfully distracted her with a fluid simulation app on his phone. She was lying in his arms, moving her finger across the screen. 

Tony sat down next to them on the foldout. “How’re we doing here, kiddos?”

Peter kissed the top of Morgan’s head. “I think we’ll live. Did you remember to feed Gerald?”

“Not yet,” Tony said. “I’ll go do that, and then maybe we can watch a movie and all take a nap together. How’s that sound, Mo?”

“Good,” she whispered. She let her hand fall listlessly but watched, mesmerized, as Peter took over, flicking his fingers across the screen. 

Tony fed Gerald, mucked out his stall, and spent a few minutes brushing him, because he hadn’t yesterday and if Gerald went more than two days without brushing, his fur became a matted mess. There was a woman in town who spun and dyed the wool they collected; Morgan had a series of hats, gradually increasing in size, made from it. But today Tony just discarded what was on the brush, wanting to get back to Peter and Morgan as soon as possible. 

Morgan was already asleep when Tony came back in, stamping two-day old snow off his boots in the mudroom. She was tucked against Peter’s side under a blanket with only her flushed face visible. Peter was reading, but he looked sleepy, too. The Christmas tree cast a glow over the entire room, softening the edges of everything. Tony changed out of his jeans and back into sweats and joined them on the sofa, providing a shoulder for Peter to lean against as he drowsed.

It was a quiet day, but a good one, in Tony’s estimation. He wished that Morgan wasn’t sick, of course, but there was really nothing he liked better these days than looking after his kids. He made chicken soup for lunch and then took Morgan upstairs for a bath. Her fever was holding steady and she was fairly miserable, but she didn’t seem to be getting worse, at least. He called Bruce, who patiently listened to Tony describe her symptoms before telling him she had the flu and he should just let it run its course. 

The afternoon was more of the same, with a bit more excitement. Peter made a dish with raspberry Jell-O and applesauce that May used to make for him when he was little. Morgan ate an entire bowl of the stuff. It seemed like a good idea at the time and less of a good idea twenty minutes later, when she threw up raspberry Jell-O all over the foldout couch. So then _everyone_ needed baths, and the foldout needed new sheets. 

The next time Tony had the chance to take a full breath, it was after six o’clock. “I guess we should think about dinner,” he said to Peter. Morgan was back on the foldout, dozing in front of an episode of _Doc McStuffins_. “Sandwiches okay with you?”

Peter looked up from his phone. “Yeah, that’s fine. May says hi, by the way. I guess it’s still snowing in London.” He sighed. 

“Sorry, kid.” 

“It’s okay,” Peter said, even though it clearly wasn’t. “We’ll still have a good Christmas here. Hopefully Mo’s on the mend by then.”

“Kids bounce back pretty fast. I can’t tell you how many times she’s brought home something from daycare that she was over in two days and it knocked me out for a week.”

“Well, let’s hope that doesn’t happen, either,” Peter said, frowning at him. “Did you get your flu shot?”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Yes, I did. Stop worrying.”

“Can’t.”

“Yeah, I know.” Tony ruffled Peter’s hair fondly and opened the fridge to start pulling out sandwich fixings. 

He was slathering mayo on a slice of bread when his phone rang. He glanced at it and saw that was an SI-issued phone number. “Stark,” he answered. 

“Mr. Stark, this is Kent Lassiter, Ms. Potts’s driver?”

Tony’s hand tightened involuntarily on his phone. “Right, Kent. Of course. Shouldn’t you be driving my wife home right now?

“I was. We, um.” Kent audibly drew a deep breath. “We were in a car accident. We’re at the ER at, um. Oh hell, I don’t even know the name of the hospital. Hang on, let me ask––”

“ _Kent_ ,” Tony said sharply. “Is Pepper okay?”

“She hit her head and I think the seatbelt kind of bruised her. They thought she might have a couple of cracked ribs. It was a deer, it darted out in front of me. I swerved, and we hit a patch of ice and slammed into a deer crossing sign. If you can believe it.”

Tony closed his eyes. “Okay,” he breathed. “And are you all right?”

“I’m fine. Not a scratch on me. Kind of a miracle, really.”

“And where is Pepper now?”

“They took her down for a CT scan.” Kent’s voice was steadier now, probably because Tony hadn’t started screaming at him. There’d be time for that later, if Tony decided it was warranted. “She was a little confused. I think she hit her head pretty hard.”

“Right.” Tony swallowed. _Confused_ at the very least meant _conscious_. “Text me the name of the hospital. I’m on my way.”

Tony disconnected. He looked up and realized Peter was staring at him, a peanut butter-covered knife in one hand. “Tony? What’s going on?”

Tony glanced toward the living room. Morgan hadn’t stirred. “Pepper was in a car accident,” he told Peter quietly. “I need to go to the hospital. Can you stay with Morgan?”

“Yeah, of course,” Peter said, eyes wide. “Go. We’ll be fine here.”

“Thanks, Pete.” 

Tony looked down at himself and realized he was wearing sweats, so he ran upstairs and changed into jeans and a sweatshirt. He came back down to find Peter sitting with Morgan on the sofa.

Tony crouched down in front of Morgan. “Hey sweetie, did Peter tell you what happened?”

She nodded. “Mommy was in an accident.”

“That’s right, Mom was in an accident. She bumped her head, and I need to go get her. So you’re going to stay here with Peter, and I want you to try really hard to go to sleep for him. You’re still sick, so you need lots of rest.” He put his hand on the back of her neck. “Can you do that?”

She nodded again, mutely this time. 

“I made you a sandwich,” Peter said, handing Tony a paper bag. “I put an orange and a bottle of water in there, too.”

“Thanks, kid,” Tony said, smiling gratefully. “Call if you need to.”

“We’ll be okay. Drive safe and text me, okay?”

“I will.” Tony hugged both of them, grabbed his keys and his sandwich, and ran out to the car. Kent had texted him the name of the hospital. “FRI, get me to Tioga County Trauma Center,” he said, buckling himself in. “And talk to me about safety upgrades to Pepper’s car on the way.”

***

It was a good two hours to the trauma center where the paramedics had taken Pepper. Tony wanted to floor it, but it was pitch dark and the roads were icy; he had learned _some_ caution in his old age. The last thing they needed was both of them getting into accidents. 

Fortunately for Tony’s sanity, Pepper herself called about an hour into the drive. She was groggy, but the CT scan had been clear. They were pretty sure she’d have whiplash come morning, but she could go home with Tony as soon as he got there. 

“Someone from SI is coming to pick up Kent,” Pepper added. “You’re not allowed to yell at him. It wasn’t his fault.”

“It was a little bit his fault,” Tony grumbled. “How many self-driving systems does that car have, and he gets into an accident because of a _deer_?”

“I don’t know,” Pepper said tiredly. “And right now, I don’t care. My head hurts and I want to go home.”

“I’m on my way, Pep,” Tony promised her. “Just relax, all right? Close your eyes for a few minutes. Or is that against concussion protocol?”

“No, sleep is fine. I’m supposed to stay off screens for a while.”

That was going to be interesting, considering that all of their strategies for entertaining a sick Morgan involved various screens. “Well, get some sleep then. I’m about an hour out.”

“Okay. Love you.”

“Love you, too.” Tony disconnected. “FRI, text Peter for me. Tell him I talked to Pepper and she’s okay. We’ll probably be home by midnight.”

“You got it, boss.”

The trauma center was brightly lit and decked out for the holidays, with a tree in one corner and garland wound around every post in the place. The nurse on duty took one look at Tony and wasted no time in bringing him into the back. He got one or two weird looks from people in the waiting area––his face had been _everywhere_ since the snap––but he had a hat, jacket, and gloves on, and most people seemed pretty self-absorbed. He guessed that if you were in a trauma center four days before Christmas, you had other things to be worrying about. 

Pepper was lying on a gurney in a dimly lit private room. She opened her eyes when Tony came in. “Oh thank God,” she said, pushing herself up, wincing. Tony rushed to help her. She had a butterfly bandage across a cut on her forehead. “I’m so glad to see you.”

“Same here.” Tony kissed her and then hugged her, as tightly as he dared. He pulled back and looked at her. “What did they say? Where’s your doctor? I want to talk to him.”

“My doctor’s a woman, actually,” Pepper said pointedly, “and I’m sure she’ll be in soon.”

Someone cleared their throat. Tony glanced over, startled, and realized that Kent was sitting in a chair in a corner of the room. “I’ll can go see if I can find her,” he offered. 

“Thank you, Kent,” Pepper replied, because she was reflexively gracious under any and all circumstances. Tony bit his tongue but didn’t bother to stop himself from scowling at the man. Kent gratefully made himself scarce. 

Tony turned back to look at Pepper. “You look... okay,” he said cautiously. 

“My head hurts, and I had some light sensitivity earlier. And some nausea, although it got better after I had something to drink. They don’t think the concussion is severe, but it’s hard to predict with head injuries.” She touched her neck. “I’m already getting sore from the seatbelt, though. I think it’s going to be a rough few days.” 

“We should see if your massage therapist can come out to the house.”

“It’s Christmas.”

“So? What’s his going rate? I’ll triple it, quadruple it, whatever.”

She smiled at him in a way that let Tony know she thought he was being ridiculous. All things considered, Tony thought he should get a medal for not being _more_ ridiculous. He had spent their entire relationship being what Peter liked to call “extra”; he didn’t know why she thought he might change now. 

Pepper’s doctor bustled in a minute or two later. She shook Tony’s hand before giving Pepper a brief exam. Apparently satisfied with the results, she handed over Pepper’s discharge paperwork on the spot. There was a long list of instructions––at the very top of which was “NO SCREENS.” There were also two prescriptions, one for anti-migraine medication and one for prescription strength acetaminophen––glorified _Tylenol_ , in other words. 

Tony sent Kent to get the scripts filled while Pepper got dressed. Tony could tell she was moving gingerly; he had to help her get both arms into her coat. He put his vibranium arm around her shoulders as they left, and she leaned into him. He gathered her into his side and tried not to think about how much worse it could have been.

The SI employee who was coming to pick up Kent was only about ten minutes away by the time they were done taking care of the paperwork, so Tony didn't feel too bad about leaving him there. Pepper looked like she was fading fast, and he wanted to get her home as soon as possible. He helped her into the front seat and got her settled with a bottle of water and an old blanket from the trunk tucked around her. 

He closed the door, straightened up, and found himself facing Kent. 

Kent sucked in a quick breath. “Mr. Stark, I just want to say––”

Tony held his hand up. “It was an accident. I’m not going to fire you four days before Christmas.”

Kent let out a breath. “Thank you.” 

“Now Happy Hogan on the other hand,” Tony added, “well, it’s hard to say what he’ll do when he finds out. He has a soft spot for Pepper and he takes her safety very seriously. But he’s currently stuck in Europe, so you have a few days to get your affairs in order.”

Kent looked resigned to his fate. Tony almost felt sorry for him. _Almost_. 

“How badly did you scare him?” Pepper asked when Tony slid into the driver’s seat.

“Hardly at all, I was very restrained,” Tony protested. “I did mention that Happy takes your safety very seriously, which is true.”

Pepper sighed. “It wasn’t his fault. It was a deer and a patch of ice. These things happen.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m never going to be satisfied by ‘these things happen’ when it comes to you and the kids.” Tony reached over and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Get some rest. We’ve got a long drive.”

“Right.” Pepper snuggled down in the seat and closed her eyes. “Why do we live in the sticks again?”

“My trauma, mostly.”

“Ah. Right.” 

Pepper slept for most of the ride home, leaving Tony alone with his thoughts. He tried not to play the _what if_ game with himself, tried not to think about how lucky they had actually been. Tried not to think about some alternate universe out there where they hadn’t been so lucky. 

Peter called just as Tony was starting to work himself into a real state. “Hey kid,” Tony answered quietly to try and avoid waking Pepper. “We’re on our way back. Morgan go down okay?”

“Not really,” Peter admitted. “She fought me the whole way. I rocked her in the chair in her room until she finally fell asleep, but she cried for probably an hour.”

Tony winced. “Did she eat anything? How’s her fever?”

“Still about a hundred and two. She had a little bit of soup and ginger ale, but she was pretty out of sorts. I think she was anxious about Pepper.” 

“Jeez, kid. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. She’s asleep now. How’s Pepper?”

“Also asleep. I think she’s going to be sore the next few days. The doctor said she needed to avoid screens.”

“That’s... going to be rough. Morgan likes to watch movies when she’s sick.” 

“I know. We’ll make it work. Pepper can wear an eye mask or something.”

“Yeah.” Peter sighed. “Today has been a _day_.”

Tony snorted. “No shit.”

“Did you two eat?”

“Not yet.” Somewhat guiltily, Tony realized he’d never touched his sandwich. His stomach had been tied in knots the whole way down, and then he was worrying about Pepper; he hadn’t even thought about it until now. 

“I’ll heat some soup up. What’s your ETA?”

“About forty-five minutes. Thanks, Pete.”

“Don’t mention it, Tony.” There was a brief, half-second pause. “Love you.”

“Love you, too.” Tony disconnected. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He felt better for having talked to Peter, even for just a few minutes. His kids were at home, safe. His wife was next to him, safe. It had been, as Peter had said, a _day_ , but everyone was okay now. 

It was starting to snow. He turned on his windshield wipers and his high-beams, and drove on through the dark country night.

Peter had tomato soup simmering on the stove when they arrived home. The kid looked exhausted; Morgan must have been a real handful. Pepper ate most of a bowl before begging off, claiming that her stomach was feeling iffy. She took one of the painkillers she’d been prescribed and tried to wave off Tony’s offer to help her up the stairs. 

Seriously, they’d been married for over five years now and together for almost ten, and she thought he wasn’t going to walk her up and make sure she got into bed okay? It was almost like she didn’t know him at all. 

It took a little while, but finally Pepper was tucked in to Tony’s satisfaction. He was pretty sure that if he fussed at her anymore, she was going to hit him. She didn’t really like being fussed over when she was sick, though she liked it more now that he was better at it. She had been known to declare that she could handle overbearing but competent nursing; it was overbearing but _in_ competent nursing she couldn’t handle. 

He left her listening to ocean sounds on her meditation app, with an ice pack on the back of her neck to try and decrease the inflammation. He went back downstairs and found Peter in the kitchen, loading the dishwasher. 

Tony went to the liquor cabinet and poured himself two fingers from the bottle of thirty-year-old single malt he hadn’t touched since Thanksgiving. “You want some?” he asked Peter. 

Peter grimaced. “Not that stuff. It tastes like the ground.” 

“That’s peat. Scotch is supposed to taste like that.”

“Whatever, it’s gross.”

Tony vented a long-suffering sigh. “Neither you nor Rhodey has any taste. Maker’s Mark?”

“Just a little, with some soda.” 

Tony made Peter a drink, and they sat down together at the kitchen table. For a moment, it was totally silent, aside from the ticking of Pepper’s grandparents’ clock in the living room. Tony took one more sip, then set his glass down. “Sorry about Morgan. That must have been rough.”

“It was,” Peter admitted. “Hopefully she’ll feel better tomorrow.”

“I don’t know how we’re going to keep her occupied without screens. And there’s no way we’re keeping her away from Pepper, either.”

Peter made a thoughtful noise. “I got Morgan the first _Harry Potter_ book for Christmas. I was going to read it with her. But if I gave her the audiobook, the two of them could listen to it together.”

Tony blinked. “That’s brilliant. Jesus, Pete, that’s a great idea.”

Peter shrugged and took a sip of his drink, wincing. 

Tony rolled his eyes. “You don’t have to drink it if you don’t want to.”

“No, it’s fine. It’s an acquired taste, right?”

“It wasn’t for me,” Tony said dryly. Scotch had been his first love at seventeen. It was probably all for the best that it wasn’t Peter’s. 

They fell silent again. Peter’s remark about giving Morgan one of her Christmas presents early started the wheels turning in Tony’s head about his own intended Christmas surprise. It was more or less done, just waiting for the day itself; it might help cheer them all up if he pulled it out a few days sooner than originally planned.

He glanced at the clock. It was after midnight now; much too late to get started. “Would you help me with a project tomorrow?” he asked Peter. “I had something planned for Christmas Eve, but I think we could all use a little early holiday cheer.”

“Sure. What is it?”

Tony smiled. He hadn’t _only_ been thinking about Morgan when he’d planned it. But if he knew Peter, he’d like getting to help set it up even more than he’d like the surprise. “You’ll see.”

“Okay, fine, be mysterious,” Peter said, pulling a face. “But we’re still doing Christmas on schedule, right? With Rhodey and Bruce?”

“That’s the plan,” Tony said. “Morgan should be better by then, and Pepper would kill me if we changed things on her account. We’ll do a second celebration with Happy and May when they get back, just like we planned.”

Peter nodded. “Okay.” He swallowed the rest of his drink. Tony followed suit, then got up to put both glasses in the sink. 

He put his arm around Peter’s shoulders as they climbed the stairs. “Thanks for all your help tonight.”

Peter waited till they got to the top, before he turned and hugged him. “Don’t mention it. I’m just glad Pepper is okay.”

Tony hugged him back. “Me too, kid. Sleep well.”

***

The next morning––the twenty-second of December––dawned clear and cold with a lot of new snow on the ground. Tony woke when Morgan crawled into bed with them. He blinked groggily, trying to clear the fuzziness from his brain. It had been a rough night, with Pepper unable to get comfortable. She’d been more stiff and sore every time she’d woken. 

“Baby, stay over here with me,” Tony said, trying to keep Morgan from climbing on top of Pepper. 

“I want Mommy,” she protested, reaching for Pepper. 

“I know, but Mom’s pretty sore this morning, so we have to be really careful,” Tony told her. “Stay here with me for now.” Morgan subsided reluctantly, settling into Tony’s lap. “How’re you feeling, Pep?”

“Oh, just peachy,” she said, wincing. 

“Want some help sitting up?”

She gritted her teeth. “Yeah.” 

Tony shifted Morgan off his lap and went around the end of the bed. He was as gentle as possible as he helped Pepper sit up against the headboard, but she still grunted from between clenched teeth. Once she was upright, she visibly forced herself to relax and smile at Morgan, who was kneeling at the end of the bed, watching with wide eyes. “There we go,” she said, holding a hand out to her. “Come snuggle with me, sweetie, while Dad brings me an ice pack.”

Morgan looked hesitant, but she eventually shuffled up the bed to Pepper’s side. She sat down, barely touching Pepper, and stuck her thumb in her mouth––an old self-soothing tactic that she almost never indulged in anymore. 

Pepper smiled reassuringly at her and brushed Morgan’s hair back from her forehead. She frowned and pressed her hand to Morgan’s forehead. “You’re still pretty warm.”

“I’ll add a thermometer to the list of things I’m getting from downstairs,” Tony said. He tucked Morgan in with the blanket from the foot of the bed, then kissed each of them on the forehead in turn. 

It was later than Tony had thought, a little after eight. Peter was up already, sitting in his pajamas at the kitchen table with a mug of coffee and his phone. “Good morning,” Tony, rubbing a weary hand over his face. “I’m on the hunt for Pepper’s pills and the thermometer.”

“The pills are right here,” Peter said, sliding them across the table to him, “and I think the thermometer is by the couch.”

Tony collected the required items and put them on a tray. Peter handed him a cup of coffee made up the way he liked it––almond milk, no sugar––along with a sippy cup of Pedialyte for Morgan and a mug of tea for Pepper. He left Peter pulling together the ingredients for pancakes and took everything upstairs. 

Pepper had apparently convinced Morgan that it was safe to snuggle with her. The two of them looked very cozy, but Tony could see the strain on Pepper’s face. She swallowed a painkiller with the bottle of water on her nightstand, and then let Tony place a cold pack, wrapped in a towel, on the back of her neck. “How’s your head?” he asked, gathering her hair up to tie back into an awkward ponytail. 

“It hurts,” she admitted. “But the real issue is my neck. I can barely move.”

“Can you take a muscle relaxer?”

“No,” she said, sounding annoyed. “The concussion means that I have to be very careful what I take. I’m basically restricted to Tylenol.”

“I still think we should call in your massage therapist.”

Pepper sighed. “I’m almost willing to let you. Or at least set up an appointment for the 26th.”

“Done,” Tony said, before she could change her mind. “FRIDAY, could you take care of that?”

“Yes, boss.”

Pepper rolled her eyes, but she didn’t rescind the order to FRIDAY. Tony tried not to look too smug as he turned his attention to his other patient. “And how’re you feeling, Morguna?” he asked, readying the thermometer.

Morgan shrugged. Tony ran the thermometer across her forehead and down her temple. “101.3. That’s better than yesterday,” he said, doing his best to sound cheerful. “How about some breakfast?”

“M’not hungry,” Morgan mumbled, turning her face and pressing it into Pepper’s side. 

“Well, I am,” Pepper said, obviously making an effort to keep her voice light. “How about we go downstairs? We can snuggle on the foldout.”

Morgan shrugged again. It wasn’t a rousing endorsement of the idea, but it was probably the best they’d do for now. Tony helped Pepper lever herself carefully out of bed. She used the bathroom and brushed her teeth, and then Tony picked up Morgan and the three of them made their very slow and careful way down the stairs to the living room. Pepper wasn’t unsteady on her feet, but Tony could tell that she didn’t quite trust herself. She was probably also extra worried about falling. It put him in mind of his early days with the vibranium arm, when everything had just felt _off_. 

Peter was flipping blueberry pancakes in the kitchen when they all arrived downstairs. “Good morning,” he said, turning with a smile. “Who wants pancakes?”

“Me,” Pepper said with a weary smile in Peter’s direction. 

“Me,” Tony echoed. 

“Not me,” Morgan mumbled into the crook of Tony’s neck. 

“You have to eat something,” Tony told her. “But it doesn’t have to be pancakes.”

“Fine,” Morgan sulked, turning her head and shifting it to Tony’s shoulder. “I want Cheerios. No milk. And apple juice. Please.”

“You got it, baby.” Tony kissed her on the top of her head. “Let’s get you and Mom set up on the couch.”

By the time the pancakes were done, Tony had managed to create a nest on the foldout with enough structure to support Pepper’s back and neck. He’d also turned on the Christmas tree lights and started a fire in the hearth. It all felt very festive and cozy. Some of the strain on Pepper’s face eased. 

Peter brought the food over on trays. He and Tony pulled up chairs next to futon and sat with their feet up on the foldout mattress. Pepper’s appetite was all right, at least; whatever nausea she’d experienced yesterday didn’t seem to be bothering her today. Morgan, on the other hand, picked at her Cheerios, looking listless and unenthused. Her fever might be down, but she clearly wasn’t feeling like herself yet. She took her chewable children’s Tylenol without complaint, even though she loathed their flavor.

“So, Morgan,” Peter said, once they were all mostly done with their pancakes. “You want one of your Christmas presents early?”

She perked up at that. “Really?”

“Yep.” Peter went over to the tree and grabbed a package from beneath it. “Here you go.”

Morgan tore into the present with abandon, revealing the cover of the first _Harry Potter_ book. “ _Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone_ ,” she read aloud. 

“You’ve heard me talk about the Harry Potter books, right?” Peter said, leaning forward to look at her. “This is the first one.”

“How many are there?” she asked, studying the cover. 

“Seven. I’ll give you one every year for Christmas, and we’ll read them together. It’ll be our thing. Sound good?”

Morgan nodded, looking up at him with eyes that were suddenly much brighter. “Thanks, Peter.”

Peter smiled at her with such affection that it made Tony’s heart almost hurt to see it. _His kids._ “You’re welcome, Mo-Mo. But this year I thought I’d give you the recorded version, too, so you and your mom can listen to it.”

Morgan frowned. “I want _you_ to read it to me.”

“I’ll read some of it to you, but Dad and I have a project we’re working on. And since your mom can’t watch TV or movies, I thought this would be a nice thing for the two of you.”

Morgan wrinkled her nose. “What’s the project?”

“Top secret,” Peter said, before Tony could. “For now, anyway.”

Morgan sighed, but she was used to Tony keeping secrets. “Okay,” she finally pronounced. “But I want you to read the first chapter.”

“Deal.” Peter fistbumped her. 

There wasn’t really enough room for them all to pile on the bed, but Morgan elected to climb into the recliner with Peter anyway. Tony took the opportunity to move over to the foldout and let Pepper lean against him. He rested his thumb against the base of her skull and pressed in gently until he found the pressure point that had her dropping her head forward with a sigh. 

Peter had a nice reading voice, steady and soothing but not monotonous. Morgan went quiet, listening. Tony held his wife and let himself feel just how fucking lucky he was, even with half his family down for the count, to be right here, right now. 

“We have the best kids,” he whispered to Pepper. 

“I know,” she whispered back. 

Morgan was reluctant to let Peter go when the chapter was over, but he finally persuaded her to crawl onto the foldout with Pepper while he and Tony went to get dressed. When Tony came back down, Morgan and Pepper were snuggled together under a comforter, and Stephen Fry’s voice was narrating the second chapter. Tony made sure they had seltzer and painkillers (Pepper) and apple juice and crackers (Morgan). Peter thumped downstairs in his boots and layers, ready to brave the cold, and the two of them headed out to the garage. 

The secret was sitting in the middle of the garage, covered by a sheet. 

“Is this why you haven’t let me in here since I got home?” Peter asked, staring at it. 

“Yep.” Tony paused. “You ready?”

Peter rolled his eyes and made a _get on with it_ gesture. Tony whipped the cover off. 

It was Santa’s sleigh. Or, well, as close as Tony could get. It was big enough to hold eight people, and it gleamed in Iron Man red and gold. It was modern in its aesthetic, with clean, sweeping lines and gold runners. But it wasn’t cold; the inside was lined with fluffy faux sheepskin. It would be a very comfortable ride for Santa and his passengers––the seats were heated, and there was a nearly-invisible––and, not incidentally, bullet- and explosion-proof––clear cover that the military would be after him to sell them once they caught wind of it. 

Fat chance of that. 

“Whoa,” Peter said, walking a slow circle around the sleigh. “This is amazing.” He stared at it for a few seconds and then looked up at Tony. “It flies?”

“Of course it flies, kid, what’s the point of Santa’s sleigh if it doesn’t fly?”

“Right, right, silly me.” Peter shook his head. “Where’re the reindeer? We gonna hook Gerald up to this thing?”

“The reindeer are holographic.”

“And Santa?”

“Santa’s real. Guess who.”

Peter squinted at him, obviously giving it some actual thought. “Bruce or Thor?”

Tony grinned. “They had to rock-paper-scissors for it. It got contentious, but they eventually agreed that it’d be Thor this year. Bruce has dibs on next year.”

“So this is a new tradition?”

“That’s the intention.” Tony pulled up a work stool and sat down. “Pepper had her people contact some Toys for Tots folks in the area. The idea was to all pile in on Christmas Eve, make three stops, hand out some gifts, blow up Twitter, and come home in time for milk, cookies, and bedtime.”

“That sounds pretty awesome.”

“Yeah. I doubt Morgan and Pepper are going to make it now, but I thought we could surprise Morgan with it here.”

Peter hummed. “What were you thinking?”

“I was thinking it’d look pretty nice on the roof. Then we can fly it down and do a little sleighride just around the property.”

“Seems easy enough,” Peter said. “What do you need me for?”

“Well,” Tony said slowly, “the tricky part is going to be getting it up on the roof without Morgan noticing. She knows what thrusters sound like, and she gets kind of...” Tony hesitated. “Worked up,” he finally finished, “if she thinks I’m putting on the suit. Residual trauma from the whole almost-dying thing.”

“Can’t say I blame her,” Peter muttered. 

Tony grimaced in acknowledgment. “We’re working on it, but it’s still an issue. So we really can’t use them to get it up there.”

“Got it. So I’m basically the muscle in this operation.”

Tony pointed finger guns at him. “Bingo. Is that a problem?” 

“Nope.”

“Fantastic.” Tony clapped his hands. “Let’s get to work.”

There were a few more logistical problems––they were going to have to get the sleigh up to the roof from the back of the house, and that involved getting it out of the garage and dragging it up the hill. It wasn’t especially heavy for Peter, but since the bite, the cold really wore him down. 

They’d managed to haul it up on the roof and were in the process of securing it with Peter’s cold-resistant web-fluid––basically gluing it to the shingles––when Tony noticed that Peter was shivering. “Hey, Pete, you getting chilled?”

“I’m fine,” Peter replied, predictably. 

“You’re shaking.”

“We’re almost done.”

“Exactly. I can handle the rest. Go inside and warm up.”

Peter sighed, straightening up. “You sure?”

“Yes. Cold hands make mistakes.”

Peter pulled a face, but he nodded. He shuffled carefully over to the edge of the roof and then flipped off and down.

Tony finished securing the runner to the roof. This version of the webbing would last a minimum of forty-eight hours unless they used the solvent on it. It would look spectacular with the lights Tony already had on the roof. 

In retrospect, Tony’s mistake was standing up too fast. After almost two years, he was used to compensating for the weight of his vibranium arm, but occasionally it threw him off balance. Like now.

He overbalanced. His foot slipped. He went down hard, hitting the roof right on his tailbone. He felt the impact through his whole body, and had just enough time to think, _Oh fuck_ before he started sliding toward the edge. 

“TONY!” Peter shouted. Tony tried to brace himself to stop his momentum, but it was too late. He went over. 

He caught himself with his vibranium arm. The gutters bowed under his weight and made a terrible shrieking noise, and all the muscles in Tony’s back and shoulder _screamed_ at him. His momentum carried him into the side of the house, and the shock of that made him let go.

Peter caught him. 

“Oh my God,” Peter gasped as he fell to his knees in the snow, setting Tony carefully onto the ground. “Oh my God, Tony—are you okay?”

Tony could barely breathe, much less speak. “I’m okay,” he finally managed to wheeze. 

“Like, actually okay?” Peter asked, sounding doubtful. “That looked kinda... bad.”

Before Tony could decide how to respond, his watch beeped. “Tony?” Pepper said. “What’s going on? Are you okay? We heard Peter yelling.”

“I’m fine, Pep,” Tony replied. 

“He fell off the roof,” Peter contradicted him.

“ _What_? Off the _roof_? What the hell were you—you know what, never mind. I don’t care. Are you okay?”

“I’m... not sure,” Tony admitted. “Peter caught me, but I haven’t tried to get off the ground yet.” Which he would have to, soon. He was starting to shiver, and the cold was seeping through his clothes. 

“Peter, do you have this handled?” Pepper asked. 

Peter’s eyes widened. “Yes?” 

Pepper sighed. “I’m going to have to take that at face value. Just get him inside and we’ll go from there.”

“I can do that,” Peter said, with rather more confidence. 

“I know you can, honey. Don’t let him steamroll you! And, Tony—don’t be a stubborn asshole.”

“ _Mommy_!” Tony heard Morgan yelp in outrage, right before Pepper disconnected.

Peter looked at Tony. “Want to try and sit up?”

“Seems like a good place to start.” Tony sat up slowly with Peter’s help, but he didn’t get far before the muscles in his back seized up. “Stop, stop, stop,” he gasped, freezing. 

Peter froze, too. “Your back?” 

“Back, shoulder, anything connected to the arm,” Tony groaned. “And possibly also my tailbone,” he added as he tried to put weight on it. It was instantly painful, and it left him frozen in an awkward half-seated position, braced against Peter and balanced on one ass-cheek. 

“Do you think anything’s broken?” 

“I don’t know. If you get me into the house, FRIDAY can scan me and send everything to Bruce.”

“Right. Okay.” Peter paused. “So, you know what Pepper said about not being a stubborn asshole? I want you to remember that when I make this suggestion. Which is not really a suggestion, because we’re both freezing and we don’t have time to slow-play this,”

“Yeah,” Tony sighed, already resigned. 

“I’m going to stand you up and put you on your feet.”

Tony wanted to argue but he knew there was no point; all it would do would prolong this very cold and painful exercise. Peter had been chilled before, and that was before they’d knelt in the snow for several minutes. And the cold wasn’t helping him, either. 

“Do it,” he said.

“Okay. One, two—” On “three,” Peter hoisted him up. He set Tony on his own two feet, but he immediately wedged himself in under Tony’s shoulder. 

Tony leaned on him shamelessly as his back spasmed. The place where his prosthesis met his shoulder was throbbing. “Give me a second,” he grunted. He really wasn’t looking forward to moving, but he could feel Peter shivering. “Okay,” he finally said, and step by painful step they managed to get to the backdoor of the house. 

Peter audibly sighed with relief once they were inside the mud room. He started stripping off his wet outer layer and helping Tony do the same. Tony leaned against the wall and let Peter maneuver him out of his jacket. Lifting his feet out of his boots was less awful than he’d imagined; his injury must have been more to his upper back. 

“Okay, let’s get you warmed up, kid,” Tony said once they were down to their respective layers of thermal underwear. 

“I’m fine,” Peter said, shaking his head. “Let’s get the prosthesis off. That should help.”

Tony couldn’t argue with that. The locks on the prosthesis were biometric, and Peter was one of a handful of people they were keyed to. Tony held still while Peter took it off him carefully and set it aside on the bench in the mudroom. 

The relief was instant. Without the arm pulling on all the injured muscles, the pain dropped from an eight to about a five. Tony took a couple of deep breaths. 

Peter was watching him. “Better?”

“Much,” Tony admitted. 

“Good.” Peter stepped in and wrapped an arm around Tony’s waist. Tony leaned on him as they shuffled down the hallway toward the living room. 

Pepper and Morgan were waiting for them. Pepper’s eyes widened when she saw Tony, and she started to try and get up off the foldout. 

“I’ve got him, Pepper,” Peter said, gesturing for her to stay where she was. He helped Tony over to the recliner and eased him down. Tony hissed at the pain in his tailbone, but it got a little better once he put the footrest up. 

Peter went to fetch the medical scanner from the downstairs bathroom. Pepper turned her entire upper body she could look at Tony. “What the hell happened?” she demanded. 

Tony grimaced. “Like Peter said, I fell off the roof. I caught myself with the prosthesis, but it pulled all the muscles in my back. I’m sure it’s not that bad. I’ll ice my shoulder a bit, pop a couple of ibuprofen, and be good as new.”

Pepper raised an eyebrow. “Famous last words.”

“Yeah, Daddy,” Morgan piped up. “Famous last words.”

Peter returned with the medical scanner and Bruce on videochat so he could talk him through using it. Tony had to sit up, which hurt, and turn onto his side, which hurt even more. By the time Peter was done, Tony had broken out into a fine sweat and felt lightheaded from the pain. 

“Sorry, sorry,” Peter muttered, helping him lean back again. 

“It’s okay, kid,” Tony said breathlessly. “Bruce, tell me I can have painkillers.”

“You can have painkillers,” Bruce replied, sounding distracted. He was looking at something off to the side––probably reading the scans. 

“Thank God. How bad is it?”

“Well, nothing looks torn, but you badly strained a bunch of things. And I think you may have fractured your tailbone.” Bruce looked back at the camera. “The good news is that I don’t see anything here that requires actual medical intervention, other than pain management. The bad news is that you’re going to be uncomfortable for a while.”

“Well, that puts me in good company.”

Bruce took his glasses off. “Yes, Peter mentioned Pepper’s car accident. Do you all need some help? I know Jim, Thor, and I are supposed to come on the twenty-fourth, but maybe it would make sense for us to come a little early. Or, well, for me to come a little early––Jim isn’t back until tomorrow, and I haven’t heard from Thor in several weeks. I have a few things going I’d need to take care of, but I could probably come up tonight.”

Tony glanced at Peter, raising an eyebrow questioningly. It was really up to him, since he was officially the only able-bodied member of the Parker-Stark family present. 

“We’re okay for now,” Peter said. “It’s just until the day after tomorrow, right? We can survive that long.”

“We’ll need to adjust plans for the twenty-fourth,” Tony added significantly. “You know what I’m talking about.”

“So I figured,” Bruce said. “Don’t worry about it, Thor and I can handle anything that needs to be done. Now, Peter, Tony will need ice for that shoulder and heat for the strained muscles. He should take a combination of muscle relaxers and ibuprofen for the pain.”

“Lucky bastard,” Pepper muttered. 

“Mommy, that’s another bad word!” Morgan protested.

“Sorry, sweetie, Mom’s just in a swearing mood today.”

Bruce cleared his throat. “Tony, do you need a new prescription for Flexeril?”

“No, I still I have some left––Cho prescribed it when I was getting used to the prosthesis, but I only ever took it at night.”

“Okay. Mind your dosage, all right? Stick to what’s prescribed. You can have a double dose of ibuprofen for the next week but if your stomach starts to bother you, let me know.”

“Yes, Mom,” Tony sighed. 

Annoyingly, Bruce ignored his sass. “Call if you need anything or have questions, Peter. Get some rest, all of you.”

“Thanks, Bruce.” Tony disconnected. 

There was a brief silence. Tony looked at Pepper, who was holding herself as still as possible, and then at Morgan, who was curled up, pale and uncharacteristically quiet against her side. Then he looked at Peter, sitting on the foot of the foldout couch, still in his long johns. At some point, he’d stolen back the MIT sweatshirt Tony had reverse-pilfered from him.

“If you think about it,” Tony finally said, “it’s almost funny.”

“You can think it’s funny,” Pepper replied. “ _You_ get painkillers.”

“Touché,” Tony agreed. “Speaking of which, Pete—”

“On it,” Peter said, and ran upstairs.

Pepper sighed. “Maybe we should have taken Bruce up on his offer.”

Tony started to shake his head, realized that was a bad idea, and stopped. “Pete’s got this.”

“Hmm.”

“What?”

“I was just thinking.” Pepper turned carefully onto her back and settled against her pillows. “Famous last words.”

Once he had ice for his shoulder, a heating pad for his back, a double dose of ibuprofen, a single dose of muscle relaxer, and several pillows helping to take the pressure off his tailbone, Tony felt much better. Good even, because of the muscle relaxer. A little floating and loose. 

Pepper’s doctor had said that she could start using heat today, so Peter found a second heating pad for her to use on her neck, and he got Morgan more juice and her next dose of Children’s Tylenol. Then he stood with his hands on his hips, surveying them. “Anyone need anything before I make lunch?”

Tony gave him a thumbs up from the recliner. Pepper smiled at him. “We’re good, Peter, thank you,” she said.

Peter made a feast of grilled cheese––several different kinds of cheese and bread, cut up into triangles and piled on a plate––and tomato soup in mugs, plus sliced up oranges. Tony wasn’t all that hungry, but he ate a couple wedges of sandwich and a mug of soup. Morgan turned her nose up at the sandwiches, but she ate some soup and some more of the raspberry stuff Peter had made the day before. It did not, thank God, end up spewed across the foldout this time. 

Out of the three of them, Morgan was definitely the closest to being “on the mend.” This was a mixed blessing, Tony knew. He was glad she was feeling better, but a healthy Morgan was not going to be satisfied for very long by sitting around and listening to an audiobook. 

For now, though, she was still pretty under the weather. After lunch, Peter sat in the easy chair, and Morgan curled up on his lap while he picked up reading _Harry Potter_ where Morgan and Pepper had stopped when Tony had fallen off the roof. Tony turned his head to look out the window as he listened and realized the sky had grayed over and it had started to snow. The porch light came on automatically, and he watched the flakes drift down through the yellow light, letting the story wash over him without paying much attention to it. 

It was only when Peter’s voice cracked that he started paying attention again. Peter paused in his reading. Tony turned his head to look at him. Pepper was asleep, Tony realized. He’d been mostly dozing himself. 

“What’s the matter?” Morgan asked Peter. She was too perceptive by half for a kid her age. 

“Nothing,” Peter said, taking a sip of water. “This scene just means a lot to me––Harry looking at his parents in the Mirror of Erised. Because my own parents died when I was really little, and I used to wish I could see them one last time.”

“But you have Aunt May and Daddy and Mommy and Uncle Happy.” 

“I know. I got way luckier than Harry did with the Dursleys,” Peter said. “But it still makes me sad sometimes that I don’t know my mom and dad. I don’t even really remember them. But you’re right, I’m also really lucky. And I’m really glad that you’re okay sharing your mom and dad with me.” 

Morgan shrugged. “I like having a big brother. It’s more fun with you here.” 

Peter chuckled. “I do my best. Hey, you mind if we take a break from reading?”

Morgan nodded. “Can we watch a movie?”

“Yeah, let’s watch something while your mom’s asleep. We can watch it on the tablet with headphones. Here, you pick.”

Tony closed his eyes and let himself fall asleep. 

When he woke again, the house was nearly silent and something smelled really good. Someone––Peter, he guessed––had tucked one of the throw blankets over him. Pepper and Morgan were asleep on the foldout, and Peter was draped across the other armchair, reading on his StarkPad. 

Tony shifted toward sitting up, hissing at the inevitable increase in pressure on his tailbone. Peter looked up and set his tablet down immediately. “Hey, hey, careful,” he said quietly, getting up to help. “You need something?”

“I need to use the bathroom,” Tony said, wincing as Peter helped him up. “God, this is undignified.”

“Better than falling over,” Peter pointed out as they made their slow but steady way to the downstairs bathroom. “Can you, uh––”

“Yeah, I’ve got it from here, thanks,” Tony said dryly, and shut the door in Peter’s face. 

When he came out, Peter was in the kitchen, boiling water for tea. The delicious smell he’d noticed when he’d woken up seemed to be coming from the slow cooker that was plugged in on the counter. “What smells so good, kid?” Tony asked, peering curiously at it. 

“Salsa chicken. You put chicken in a slow cooker, cover it with jarred salsa, and let it cook. Uncle Ben used to make it all the time.”

“That sounds delicious.” 

Peter shrugged. Tony sidled up beside him at the counter and put his arm around him. “Sorry if I was short with you earlier.”

“You’re in pain. It’s okay.”

“I know, but you are really going above and beyond here, kiddo. I’ll try to be nicer about accepting help.” Peter shrugged again. “Speaking of which, is it time for my next painkiller?” 

“Yep. Oh, and hey, I was doing some online research, and I found something that might help with your tailbone. Don’t know how it’ll work with your back, but I figure it’s worth a shot.”

“What is it?” 

Peter turned and pointed toward the living room. There in front of the hearth was the bubblegum pink, fluffy beanbag chair that usually lived in Morgan’s room. Tony called it “the pink monstrosity.” It was Morgan’s favorite thing ever, and it was also exactly the sort of thing that Tony wouldn’t have been caught dead having in his house before he had a kid. 

“What.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “Just try it. The internet swore by it. They said a beanbag chair is much better than a recliner for a bruised or fractured tailbone.”

“Well, if the _internet_ says it...”

“I texted Bruce and he agreed. And, hey, what did you just say about accepting help? Something about being nicer about it?”

Tony snapped his mouth shut. “Fine. I’ll try it. But I want my painkillers first.”

Properly doped up, Tony approached the pink monstrosity warily. Peter had to help him lower himself onto it, but once he was there...

“Oh,” Tony said in relief, managing to nestle himself into the beanbag on his side. Peter shoved the beanbag into shape around him so that it was providing him with support in all the right places, and then shoved a pillow behind his head and neck to prop him up. “That’s much better.”

“See?” Peter handed Tony a mug of tea and sat cross-legged on the floor. “Sometimes the internet is more than just crazy conspiracy theories and memes about Captain America’s butt.”

Tony squinted at him. “I don’t want to know.”

“No, you don’t,” Peter agreed. He flipped around so he was sitting against the beanbag chair, with his own mug cradled in his hands. He let his head fall slightly to the side so that it rested against Tony’s.

Tony thought about saying something about the conversation he’d overheard earlier, but he wasn’t sure he should; Peter had probably thought Tony was asleep after all. Maybe they didn’t need to talk about it. 

Finally, Tony just said, “I love you. You know that, right?”

“I do,” Peter said, sounding amused. “Man, muscle relaxers really make you dopey, don’t they?”

“A bit,” Tony admitted. 

“Well, don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone.”

“Ehh,” Tony yawned. “I think the secret’s out already.” After all, since the snap, everyone and their sister knew that Tony Stark was a giant softie who loved his kids. 

Tony found it hard to care. There were much worse things to be known for. 

***

_“Daaaaaaddy.”_

_“Hey Mo, let’s let Mom and Dad sleep in, all right? They’ve had a rough couple of days.”_

_“I’m hungry!”_

_“I can make you breakfast.”_

_“I want eggs!”_

_“How about toast?”_

_“No, eggs!”_

_“How about leftover blueberry pancakes from yesterday?”_

The kids’ voices faded as they went down the stairs. Tony opened his eyes and looked up at the ceiling. He sensed, without glancing over, that Pepper was already awake beside him. “Well, this is a waste of a lazy morning,” he announced. It was incredibly rare that the two of them had a morning without work or kids. Now they finally had one, and neither of them could move.

“No kidding,” Pepper replied, her voice tight with pain. 

“You sleep okay?”

“Not really. You seemed to, though.”

“The muscle relaxers help. Let me inch my way out of bed and I’ll get you some Tylenol.” Tony rolled slowly onto his side and pushed himself up with his arm. It still hurt, but it was the least painful method that he’d discovered thus far. 

Pepper laughed. “God, this is just... you were right, it’s kind of funny. I can’t believe tomorrow is Christmas Eve.”

A terrible thought occurred to Tony. “Do we need to wrap any of the kids’ gifts?”

Pepper turned her head slowly and painfully to give him an unimpressed stare. “Who do you think you married? Everything arrived wrapped. It just needs to go under the tree.”

“Thank God,” Tony grunted as he finally got his feet on the ground. He shoved himself up and managed not to overbalance. He shuffled into the bathroom and got them both glasses of water, plus their respective medications. By the time he came out, Pepper had managed to sit up on the side of the bed. She took two Tylenol, while Tony swallowed his ibuprofen and muscle relaxer. 

“I am not ready to feel this old,” Tony said when he’d drained his water. 

“Me neither. Can you help me pull my hair back? I can’t lift my arms that high.”

“I would, but...” Tony held up his hand and wriggled his fingers. “Only one hand.”

“Right,” Pepper sighed. “Sorry. I forgot.”

“Why don’t you take a hot shower? I’ll go downstairs and make sure Morgan isn’t running Peter into the ground.”

Pepper frowned. “Are you sure?”

“I think together Peter and I can probably handle her. Seriously, take your time.”

“A shower does sound really nice,” Pepper said wistfully. “All right. Thanks.”

Downstairs, when Tony finally made it that far, Morgan was sitting on the kitchen counter, swinging her feet and eating a blueberry pancake with her hands. “Hey, you two,” Tony said, pausing to kiss Morgan on the forehead. “You look like you’re feeling better, Mo.”

“Yep,” Morgan agreed through a mouthful of pancake. 

“How are _you_ feeling?” Peter asked. 

“Sore,” Tony admitted. “Don’t ask me how long it took for me to get out of bed.”

Peter looked sympathetic. “You hungry?”

Tony grimaced. “Not really, but I guess I should eat something. I’m not supposed to take ibuprofen on an empty stomach.”

“Toast okay?”

“Yeah, thanks. Is there coffee?”

“Oh,” Peter said, “no. I hadn’t started it yet. Sorry.”

“I can do it,” Tony said, moving over to the coffee maker. “I know I’m kind of useless right now, but I can definitely make coffee.” 

“I wanted eggs,” Morgan said, a faint whine in her voice, “but Peter said no.”

“You’ve been sick, Mo,” Peter said, sounding tired. “You need to take it easy for a little while longer. You can have something else for lunch if you want.”

“I want mac and cheese for lunch,” Morgan said around a mouthful of pancake. “With tuna!”

Peter made a face at that. “We’ll see. Finish your pancakes for now, okay?”

Morgan nodded and swallowed the bit of pancake in her mouth. “Can I watch Dora?”

“Sure.” Peter helped her down from the counter and she ran into the living room. He started putting slices of bread into the toaster. “How’s Pepper doing?”

“She didn’t sleep that well, so I told her to take her time this morning. She’ll be down in a bit. How about you, did you sleep okay?”

“Yeah.” Peter wrinkled his nose. “Is that coffee burned or something? It smells... weird.”

Tony sniffed at the canister. “It smells okay to me. You want some?”

“No, I’m gonna have tea.”

Tony concentrated on making coffee one-handed––he had a lot of experience with it, from the days before he had the arm, but still took extra attention. When the machine was finally burbling away, he turned to look at Peter, who’d gone suspiciously quiet. He was leaning against the counter, one arm wrapped around himself. 

“Pete? You sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah. What do you want on your toast?”

Tony frowned. “Almond butter, if there’s some in there. Or just butter, if there isn’t.”

“I think I saw some.” Peter went to dig around in the fridge, finally emerging triumphant with a jar of almond butter.

“What are you having?” Tony asked as Peter slid a plate with two pieces of toast and the almond butter over toward him. 

Peter shook his head. “Just tea for now.”

Tony raised his eyebrows. “You need to eat something or your blood sugar is going to tank.”

“I will, just...” Peter drew a deep breath and then swallowed. “Give me a second.”

Tony’s frown deepened. Peter acted like he didn’t notice Tony’s concern, picking up his tea and heading into the living room to sit with Morgan. Tony finished making his breakfast and ate it standing up at the kitchen counter, since sitting wasn’t an option. Then he took his coffee and joined Peter and Morgan in the living room. Peter helped him lie down and get comfortable on the beanbag chair. 

“I’m still hungry,” Morgan announced, as Peter was shoving the beanbag into the right shape around Tony. “Can I have a juice pop?”

“Not before noon,” Tony said. “You know the rules, Mo.”

“But I’ve been _sick_ ,” she whined. 

Tony wondered how long she planned on playing that card. On the other hand... he glanced at Peter, who was looking distinctly pale, and decided it wasn’t worth the argument. “Okay, we’ll make an exception, because you’ve been sick.”

“Yaaaaay,” Morgan trilled. She got up and tripped over to flop down on the beanbag chair next to Tony. Tony stifled a groan as it jostled him, but once she was down, she snuggled in. 

“Careful, Mo-Mo,” Peter said as he got up. “Dad’s still hurt.”

“Sorry,” Morgan said contritely. 

“It’s okay.” Tony wrapped his arm around her, pulling her into his chest. Peter brought her back a juice pop, and Morgan accepted it cheerfully. “You seem like you’re feeling better.”

“Lots better,” she said, sucking on her popsicle. 

“I’m really glad. Unfortunately, Mom and I aren’t better yet, so we’re all going to have to take it easy today. And I need you to be super nice to Peter.”

“I’m always nice to Peter,” Morgan grumbled. 

Tony glanced at Peter again. The kid had curled back up in the armchair with a throw blanket. “You treat Peter like your personal jungle gym,” Tony replied, looking back at Morgan. “Try not to do that, all right? We need him in one piece.”

“ _Fine_ ,” Morgan sighed, in a way that Tony suspected was a window into the teenager she’d be someday. She craned her neck back to look at him. “We can still have Christmas, right?” 

“Yes,” Tony said. “In fact, maybe you can help Peter put all the presents under the tree today. How does that sound?”

“Good. Can we make Christmas cookies, too? And gingerbread men?”

“You’ll have to ask Peter.”

Morgan whipped her head around to look at Peter. “Peter, can we make sugar cookies? And gingerbread men? And decorate them? _Please_?”

“Um.” Peter took a deep breath and then swallowed. Hard. “Maybe.”

Tony decided he couldn’t ignore the signs any longer. “Pete,” he started.

“Just a sec, I’ll be right back,” Peter said abruptly. He got up and hurried down the hallway––not to the half-bath, like Tony had expected, but all the way down the hall, to the guest suite. 

Morgan stared after him. “Is Peter okay?” 

“Not sure, baby,” Tony replied. He already regretted his decision to lie down on the beanbag chair. He couldn’t get up again without help––and his only help, he strongly suspected, was puking in the bathroom of the guest suite. “Let’s give him some space for now. We can check on him in a bit.”

Morgan frowned. “Okay,” she agreed, even if she didn’t look happy about it. 

Peter still hadn’t returned when Pepper finally came downstairs. Her hair was damp from her shower, and she was wearing a button down over yoga pants––probably because she hadn’t been able to get anything on over her head. 

“Good morning,” Pepper said, coming over to kiss Tony and then Morgan. “Where’s Peter?”

“I don’t think Peter is feeling so hot,” Tony said. 

Pepper’s eyes widened. “Oh no.”

“Yeah. He ran down the hall to the guest bathroom a couple of minutes ago. Can you check on him?”

“I’ll go, too!” Morgan announced. 

“No, honey, stay there and keep an eye on Daddy, all right?” Pepper smiled at her, a little tightly, until Morgan nodded.

Pepper was gone for a while. Tony kept Morgan distracted with movies on her tablet and tried to ignore the growing pit of anxiety of his stomach. Peter was sick. Peter was sick and _Tony couldn’t help him_ , because of his stupid back. He was literally stuck on a monstrously pink beanbag, unable to get up, while his kid was throwing up. He was useless. 

Pepper finally returned, alone, looking rather grim. “How is he?” Tony asked anxiously.

Pepper glanced at Morgan, but she was watching the old school claymation version of _Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer_ with her headphones on. “Puking his guts out,” she reported. “He insists he’s fine on his own. I tried to get him to let me help, but he basically kicked me out.” 

Tony winced. “What do you think we should do?”

“I don’t know,” Pepper admitted. “It might be a short lived bug. His immune system is ironclad, isn’t it?”

“Usually,” Tony said. “Not this time, obviously.”

“Let’s give him an hour,” Pepper suggested. “Tell FRIDAY to keep an eye on him. And if he’s still throwing up, we’ll call Bruce.”

Reluctantly, Tony agreed. He had FRIDAY put Peter’s vitals up in the bottom left corner of his phone so he could keep an eye on them. His temperature was slightly elevated above his baseline, though nothing that would be unusual for the average, non-spider human. His heart rate was a little high, too, and his blood pressure a little low, but Tony guessed that was normal under the circumstances. 

Forty-five minutes later, just as Tony was thinking about calling Bruce, the door at the end of the hallway opened and Peter shuffled out. He looked like death warmed over, and he was keeping one hand on the wall. 

“Jesus, kid,” Tony said. 

“How are you feeling, sweetie?” Pepper asked. 

“Better,” Peter said, stopping at the edge of the living room. His voice was unusually thin. He put his hand on his stomach. “I think I’m okay now. It was probably just something I ate.”

“We’ve all been eating the same thing for the last three days,” Tony pointed out. 

“Yeah, but... I don’t know. Maybe I’m allergic to something?”

“Do you even have food allergies?” Pepper asked, brow wrinkled. 

“Not since the bite.” Peter sighed. “I’m okay. I promise. I just need to sit for a bit.” He started to make his way over to the armchair he’d occupied earlier.

“Before you do,” Tony said, “I hate to ask this, but can you help me up? I can’t get out of this stupid thing one-handed without help.”

“Oh, sure.” Peter helped him up, steadying him when Tony’s legs didn’t immediately hold him. His tailbone and his back protested all the movement, but he powered through until he was standing. Then he took a deep breath, feeling a little woozy from the muscle relaxers now that anxiety wasn’t sharpening everything. “Okay?” Peter asked him.

“Yeah. Go sit down, kid. Let me get you a blanket.”

“Thanks.” Peter sank down into the armchair and didn’t even protest when Tony tucked a fluffy blanket in around him. 

Morgan had been absorbed in her movie, but she looked up then and took her headphones off. “Peter! Are you feeling better?”

“Yeah, I am,” Peter said, smiling wanly at her. “What’re you watching?”

“ _Rudolph_! But we can listen to _Harry Potter_ if you want.”

“That’s okay,” Peter said. “I’m just gonna zone out for a bit. You watch _Rudolph._ ”

Morgan put her headphones back on. Peter lay his head down on the arm of the chair, looking about as sad as Tony had ever seen him. Tony exchanged a worried glance with Pepper. 

Tony ruffled Peter’ hair very gently. “I’m gonna rustle you up some ginger ale, Pete.”

“Thanks,” Peter mumbled, closing his eyes. 

One he’d delivered the ginger ale, Tony stretched out with Pepper on the foldout, with a pillow shoved behind him to keep him off his tailbone. It wasn’t as comfortable as the beanbag chair, but at least he’d be able to get up if he had to. He opened up his chat with May and then hesitated. It seemed unfair to start whining at her immediately about everything, so he opened with an overly peppy, _Hey! How’s London?_

The answer came almost immediately. _Snowy and boring. But it seems to be lightening up. Might be a while before any of the airports are open, though. How are YOU? Peter told me about all the excitement you’ve been having._

_We’ve been better. Pep and I are both really sore, and now Peter’s sick._

_Oh no! Cold?_

_Stomach bug._

_Nooooo, that’s the worst. Is he okay? He gets dehydrated really easily._

Tony grimaced. He’d forgotten about that. The downside to the kid’s metabolism was that if he didn't eat, drink, or sleep enough, it tended to affect him worse than it did the average human. _Think he’s okay for now. Any advice?_

_You don’t need my advice when it comes to Peter. The most important thing is not to believe you when he tells you he’s fine and doesn’t need help, but you already knew that._

Tony snorted to himself. _Got it. Thanks._

_Thank YOU for looking after him. Tell him I love him and have him call me when he can, all right? Don’t worry about what time it is here. Time is a circle anyway since this stupid storm started._

Tony smiled to himself. _Will do. Say hi to Happy for me._ He set his phone down. “Pete, May says she loves you.”

Peter opened his eyes. “She’s okay?”

“Yeah. The storm is finally starting to die down.”

Peter nodded. He closed his eyes again. Tony watched him, noting how carefully he was breathing. In through his nose, out through his mouth. 

It didn't surprise him at all when Peter sat up and shoved his blanket back, about two minutes later. He stumbled out of the living room, and this time he only made it as far as the half-bath. He closed the door, but Tony could still hear the sound of retching. 

“Dammit,” Tony muttered, shoving himself up. He moved too fast and put too much pressure on his tailbone. He hissed in pain. 

“Tony––” Pepper started. 

“I’m fine,” Tony snapped. He took a deep breath. “Sorry, I’m sorry.”

Pepper rested her hand between Tony’s shoulder blades. “It’s okay. This is hard.”

“It is.” Tony braced himself sideways on the foldout, both feet on the floor. “Jesus, Pep, this week has just been one fucking thing after another. It won’t _stop_.”

“I know.”

“It’s exhausting.”

“It is _completely_ exhausting,” Pepper agreed. “I think we need to call Bruce.” 

Tony sighed. “Yeah. I agree. And... God, Morgan is going to hate it, but maybe we should talk about postponing Christmas for a couple of days.”

“It might be the most prudent option, even if it does cause some tears. I’ll call Bruce. You go take care of Peter.”

Tony nodded. He took more care in getting himself upright this time and was able to mostly avoid hurting himself. He straightened up with a wince and shuffled toward the half-bath. 

The retching had stopped, at least temporarily. Tony knocked lightly. “Pete, it’s me. Can I come in?”

“Yeah,” Peter replied in a weak, thin voice. Tony slipped inside and shut the door. 

Peter was hunched over the toilet, his head pillowed on his arm. His face was pale and covered in a fine layer of sweat, and his eyes were watery and slightly rimmed in red. “Oh, kiddo,” Tony sighed. 

“I’m sorry,” Peter said, voice cracking. “I know you guys were counting on me, I tried so hard not to––not to be sick––”

“Pete, Pete, stop,” Tony said. He wet a washcloth in the sink. “You don’t really think we’re mad at you, do you?”

“No.” Peter sniffled. “I don’t know.” Tony handed him the washcloth and he wiped his face with it. His hands were shaking. 

“Well, we’re not,” Tony told him. “Worried, yes. Mad, no.”

Peter nodded weakly. Tony took the washcloth back and threw it in the sink. He cast around the small half-bath for a place he could sit so he wasn’t looming over Peter and realized there was none. There was no way his back or his tailbone would tolerate him sitting on the floor, and there was no place else for him to sit. He leaned against the wall instead and put his hand on Peter’s head. Peter leaned into his legs and rested his head against Tony’s thigh.

It was a short-lived peace. Maybe a minute later, Peter shifted forward abruptly, grabbing onto the toilet and starting to retch again. Tony hovered, trying to figure out a way that he could help or at least offer some sort of comfort, but even bending over so he could put his hand on Peter’s back was difficult. If he could have braced himself against the wall with the prosthesis to take some of the pressure off his back, it might’ve been okay, but as it was, holding the position for more than about five seconds hurt like hell. So instead he stood there, hovering, while Peter retched into the toilet. 

When he finished, panting, Tony was ready with another washcloth and a cup of water. Peter pressed the damp cloth over his face, then rinsed his mouth out, spitting into the toilet. Then he sat there, just holding the rest of the water, looking teary and miserable. 

“You don’t have to stay here,” Peter managed after a few seconds. “I’m okay, and Pepper and Morgan––”

“Are fine on their own for a bit,” Tony said. “Pepper is going to call Bruce and see if he can come down early after all.”

Peter sighed. He shifted back so he was sitting propped against the wall and leaned carefully against Tony’s legs. Tony slid his fingers into Peter’s curls, which were now damp with sweat. “I guess that’s probably for the best. I wanted...” Peter swallowed, then craned his neck back to look up at Tony. “I wanted to look after you the way you’ve looked after me.”

“Aww, Pete,” Tony said, and used his thumb to wipe away a stray tear from the corner of Peter’s eye. “That’s really sweet. Unnecessary, but sweet.”

“Mm.” Peter took a deep breath. 

“How’re you feeling?”

“Like a washcloth someone wrung out.” 

“Sounds about right.” Tony pushed the hair back from Peter’s forehead, then checked Peter’s temperature the old-fashioned way. He felt a little warm but not too bad. 

There was a light knock at the door. “Peter? Tony? Can I come in?” Pepper asked. 

“Yeah,” Peter said. 

Pepper opened the door. Morgan peered around her legs at Peter, thumb stuck in her mouth. “Oh Peter,” Pepper said upon seeing him, “how are you feeling?”

“Not great,” Peter admitted. 

“Did you reach Bruce?” Tony asked. 

“I did,” Pepper said. “He and Rhodey are on their way right now. They should be here in about an hour.”

“Thank God.” Rhodey and Bruce were more than capable of taking care of them, even if Tony hated to ask it of them.

“Peter?” Morgan said in a small voice. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, Mo, I’m okay,” Peter replied with a wan smile. “Dad’s taking good care of me.”

“Daddy’s really good at taking care of people,” Morgan said. “He’s the best. Except for Mommy, who’s also the best. You’re pretty good, too,” she amended diplomatically. 

Peter smiled. “Thanks, Mo.”

Tony exchanged a glance with Pepper. “Come on, sweetie,” she said to Morgan. “Let’s give Daddy and Peter some space. You can draw some pictures for Uncle Rhodey and Uncle Bruce to thank them for coming to take care of us.”

Morgan perked up at the idea of an art project. She turned and vanished immediately in the direction of the living room. Pepper followed, closing the bathroom door behind her.

“She’s right, you know,” Peter said after a moment. “You’re really good at taking care of people.”

“Thanks, kid,” Tony said. Peter leaned wearily against him, and Tony threaded his fingers into his hair again. He didn’t say that the only reason he was good at taking care of people now was that the people who loved him had taught him how; that he’d been terrible at it before he’d had Morgan, and even worse before he’d met Peter. That the person he was now had been inexorably shaped by Peter himself—first by his presence, then by his absence, and then by the force of Tony’s gratitude at being granted a second chance. 

He didn’t say it, but he thought they both knew it.

***

Tony had rarely been as glad to see anyone as he was to see Rhodey and Bruce. They arrived in Bruce’s Hulk-sized vehicle, with a bag of groceries and several more bags of medical supplies.

Peter was back in the armchair, dozing miserably under a throw blanket. Pepper and Tony were back on the foldout. Morgan was coloring peaceably at the coffee table, but she jumped up when Bruce and Rhodey swept in. 

“Wow, you _all_ look like crap,” Rhodey said. “Except for you, Pepper. You’re radiant as always.”

“Hey,” Tony objected, without any heat. “Stop flirting with my wife, Rhodes.”

“You’re lying, Jim, but I do appreciate it. Thank you both for coming,” Pepper said. “Sorry for not getting up.”

“No, no, stay right where you are.” Rhodey picked up Morgan, who was eager to show him her drawing. “What’ve you got there, baby doll?”

“I made you a picture! And Uncle Bruce, too.”

“That’s very nice of you. Come show it to me in the kitchen while we put things away.”

Rhodey took Morgan into the kitchen, and Bruce surveyed the three of them. “All right, who needs me to look at them first?”

“Peter,” Pepper and Tony said together. 

“I’m okay,” Peter mumbled. 

Tony ignored him. “He can’t keep anything down, not even water.”

Bruce tsked. He prodded Peter to sit up and started pulling things out of his medical bag. He got Peter’s vital signs from FRIDAY, but he listened to his breathing manually, and then did a pinch test on the back of Peter’s hand for dehydration. He also pricked his finger to test his blood sugar levels, which made Peter flinch. The kid really hated needles.

“You’re borderline on both fluids and blood sugar,” Bruce announced. “I want to give you an IV before it gets dangerous.”

“Is that really necessary?” Peter asked. “I haven’t thrown up in, like, twenty minutes...”

“That’s not the reassurance you think it is,” Bruce said wryly. “Indulge me in this. I think you’ll feel a lot better and recover faster if we keep your fluids and blood sugar up. Come on, we can do it in the guest room.”

“Okay,” Peter said reluctantly. He got up slowly, steadying himself on the back of the chair. He hesitated, looking at Tony, then bit his lip and turned away to let Bruce lead him down the hallway to the guest room. 

“Tony,” Pepper said significantly. 

“Yep, working on it,” Tony grunted as he pushed himself upright. He got up and shuffled stiffly down the hall to the guest bedroom. 

“I really don’t think this is necessary,” Peter was saying anxiously as Tony came in. “Everyone is overreact––Tony, what are you––you didn’t have to––you should be resting––”

“Calm down and budge over, kid,” Tony replied, trying to lower himself onto the bed in a way that would cause him the least amount of pain. Bruce, bless him, grabbed a pillow and shoved it behind him, so he was on his side and leaning forward, with the weight taken off his tailbone. “Jesus, this is tedious. How long am I going to feel like this?”

“A few weeks, I would guess,” Bruce said, setting up Peter’s IV line on a collapsible pole he’d pulled out of one of the bags. 

“Fan-fucking-tastic. Hey, Pete, look at me, all right? Look at me while Bruce does his doctor thing.”

Peter obediently looked at Tony. “You should’ve stayed with Pepper,” he muttered. “I’ve caused enough problems this morning. I’m not five, I––”

“Pete, stop. You’re not causing problems, you’re sick. Was Morgan causing problems because she was sick?”

“No,” Peter conceded. 

“Exactly. So just chill out.”

Peter swallowed. “Okay.” He kept his face turned toward Tony while Bruce put the IV line in, and then he relaxed, going quiet and pliant. Tony exchanged a relieved glance with Bruce.

Thirty seconds later, Peter started trying to sit up. “What are you doing?” Tony asked, slightly exasperated now. “I told you, just chill out––”

“No, no, I’m gonna––” Peter retched suddenly. 

“Oh hell,” Bruce said, and lunged for the waste bin by the bed. He shoved it at Peter, who started heaving again. He didn’t bring anything up with the first two heaves, but with the third one, he did, spitting into the garbage can. 

This time, at least Tony was in a position to put a hand between his shoulders and rub slow circles on his back. Thank God for small blessings. 

It felt like it took forever, but finally the retching petered out. Bruce took the trash can away to rinse out, and Peter slumped back down. Tony tucked him under his arm. 

Bruce returned with the clean waste bin, which he set within easy reach on the bed. He crouched down and the three of them looked at each other. 

“That’s it,” Tony said with an exhausted sigh. “We’re canceling Christmas before someone ends up dead.”

“Noooo,” Peter moaned. “You can’t. Mo will be so upset.”

“Pete, this entire holiday is obviously cursed.”

“Well, then you _really_ can’t cancel it,” Peter argued. He would have sounded more persuasive if he hadn’t looked like death warmed over, or had an IV going into his right arm. “Because if you do, they win.”

“Who wins?”

“Whoever cursed us!”

“Pete, I don’t think anyone actually cursed us.” Tony pinched the bridge of his nose. His head was throbbing in time with the place where his prosthesis usually met his arm. He couldn’t have a painkiller for another twenty minutes, and at the moment that felt like an eternity. He wanted to sleep for about a year––or at the very least, until _next_ year.

“They could have,” Peter pointed out. “Magic is real. We should talk to Dr. Strange.”

Tony cast Bruce a helpless look. “I think Tony is right, Peter,” Bruce said, futzing with Peter’s IV line. “I think you all have just had a truly horrendous run of bad fortune. And while I’d never arguing for canceling Christmas, in this case, I might recommend delaying it for a few days. Just until you’re all feeling better.”

“Happy and May will have made it back by then,” Tony pointed out. “Hopefully,” he amended, since he did not feel like testing his luck.

“S’not fair,” Peter mumbled. “It’s _Christmas_ , you can’t just cancel it.”

Tony vented a deep sigh. “Then... let’s just play it by ear. We’ll see how we’re doing tomorrow. How does that sound? Acceptable?”

“I guess,” Peter said reluctantly. Tony glanced up at Bruce and gestured toward the throw at the foot of the bed. Bruce helped him get it spread out over Peter, and Tony threaded his fingers into the kid’s hair. Peter burrowed down as best he could, considering he had to keep one arm out for the IV. His breathing evened out slowly, until Tony was pretty sure he was asleep. 

Bruce was eyeing him, Tony realized after a few seconds. “What?” Tony asked testily. 

“Nothing. Just––I mean, it _is_ possible...”

“Don’t you start,” Tony grumbled, and took his glasses off to rub his eyes. 

“I’m just saying, a call to Strange wouldn’t kill you.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I think it might.” Tony shook his head. “It’s just bad luck, like you said.”

“ _Really_ bad luck.” 

“Yes,” Tony was forced to agree. “ _Really_ bad luck.” The worst luck, actually. 

Seriously. Even if Peter didn’t want to hear it, even if Morgan would be devastated, canceling the damn holiday was the only sane thing to do at this point. 

“Tell you what,” Bruce finally said, “why don’t you take a nap in here with Peter, while Rhodey and I make lunch and take care of Pepper and Morgan? Things will seem better after you’ve had a nap, I’m sure.”

“Can I have my painkiller a few minutes early, then?” Tony asked, trying not to whine too obviously.

Bruce glanced at the bedside clock. “Yes, just this once. And I need you to drink the whole glass of water.”

Properly doped up and hydrated, Tony let Bruce help him get situated on the bed next to Peter. The muscle relaxer kicked in and he started yawning. 

“Wait,” Tony said, just as Bruce was about to leave, “I forgot to tell you. The sleigh is on the roof.”

Bruce stared at him. “That’s how you fell, isn’t it?” 

“Maaaybe,” Tony hedged. “Wanted to give Morgan a show. The webbing should last another twenty-four hours but you should get it down before then before then or it’ll....” Tony made a hand gesture to illustrate the sleigh plummeting down the side of the house and blowing up into very festive shrapnel.

He didn’t really think it would explode, but at this point, anything seemed possible.

Now it was Bruce’s turn to pinch the bridge of his nose. “All right. I’ll take care of it.” He very gently squeezed Tony’s shoulder. “Get some rest.”

Bruce left, closing the door behind him. Tony let himself relax and give into the drug-induced fuzziness. He pulled Peter closer, rested his head against the headboard, and fell asleep.

***

Things really did seem a little brighter when Tony woke up from his nap. It was almost five o’clock; they’d slept most of the day away. At some point Bruce had come in and disconnected Peter from his IV, but he was still out; Tony very gently disentangled himself and went out to the living room. Pepper was alone on the foldout with her earbuds in, and the house was silent in a way that Tony knew meant Morgan wasn’t home.

Tony touched Pepper’s foot to get her attention. She opened her eyes and took out her earbuds. “Sleep well?” she asked. 

“Yeah. Where is everyone?” 

“Rhodey took Morgan to the grocery store. She was climbing the walls, and he wanted to get stuff to make chicken and dumplings.”

“Does he know it’s December 23rd?”

“He said he didn’t care. I told him to go with God, and it’s been lovely to know him.”

Tony nodded. Rhodey had made his own bed and could lie in it. “And Bruce?”

“Up on the roof dealing with your brilliant plan.” 

As if on cue, they heard the firing of thrusters. Tony went over to the window and watched as Bruce landed the sleigh in the front yard. Sometime in the last twenty-four hours, it had snowed again, and there was fresh, nearly untouched powder all around. Untouched at least until Bruce climbed out and started stomping around. 

Still, the sleigh looked really nice in the front yard––very festive and picturesque. It was missing one or two key elements, though. 

“Bruce,” Tony called, stepping out onto the porch. Pepper squawked her protest at the blast of cold air he let into the living room. “Hit the red button under the dashboard.”

Bruce leaned back into the sleigh, and a second later, eight reindeer and Rudolph sprang into being. Gerald, who had been investigating the new addition to his yard, leapt back in alarm. The reindeer looked––if Tony did say so himself, and he did––extremely realistic, down to the details of their fur and the bells on their harness. One of them pawed the ground and snorted, releasing a plume of warm air. Gerald sniffed at them, looked first confused and then outraged at their lack of scent, and turned and stalked off in high dudgeon. 

“Wow, Tony, you really outdid yourself,” Bruce said in admiration.

“You know what it needs now? A jolly green Santa.”

Bruce grinned at him. “I thought it was Thor’s turn this year.”

“Eh, he snoozes, he loses. I made suits for both of you. They’re in the garage.”

Bruce jogged off. Tony went back inside and shut the door. “I’ve changed my mind,” he told Pepper. “We can’t cancel Christmas.”

“It does feel more manageable now that Rhodey and Bruce are here,” she said. “I’m just worried about what else might happen. What if we all get food poisoning from the chicken and dumplings? What if Bruce, I don’t know, runs over Rhodey’s foot with the sleigh? What if Morgan trips and breaks her nose?”

“Then we’ll deal with it. But Peter was right.”

“I was?” Peter asked, shuffling into the living room. He was wearing the blanket from the guest room bed like a cape. “When?”

“When you said that if we cancel––or postpone Christmas––then we’re giving in.”

Peter flopped down in the armchair and wrapped himself up in his blanket. “Actually, what I said was that if we do that, whoever cursed us wins. So do you agree that someone cursed us?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“It would explain a lot,” Pepper said. “Maybe we should call Dr. Strange.”

“That’s what I said!” Peter told her.

“We’re not calling that asshole,” Tony insisted. “Because we’re not cursed!”

“You’re just saying that because you hate magic,” Peter said. 

“That’s true, but also, it’s beside the point. We’re not cursed, it’s just been a rough few days. That’s all.”

“If you say so, honey,” Pepper said, patting him on the hand. 

Tony gave up. If Peter and Pepper wanted to believe they were cursed, that was their prerogative. Tony believed in science, and he would go on believing in science, thank you very much. Sometimes the law of averages just turned against you. 

Bruce returned, looking jolly indeed in the red and white Santa suit Tony had made him. He climbed back in the sleigh, and Tony dragged Peter and Pepper out to the porch, wrapped in various blankets, to watch Bruce take it on its inaugural trip around the lake. Bruce also tested out the pre-programmed drone patterns he could control from the dash; a couple hundred of the things flew out from the belly of the sled to form 3D Christmas trees, a Santa face, and a few different stars. They also transformed into some pretty cool firework-like patterns––only better, because they didn’t go off with a bang and trigger anyone’s PTSD. 

“God, I’m glad you never became a super villain,” Pepper sighed, watching the display over the lake. 

“I could still flip,” Tony replied, grinning with delight despite the ache in his back and shoulder.

“Honey, you’re a house cat,” Pepper said with a roll of her eyes. “There is no way you’re giving this up for a life of villainy.”

Tony scowled. Peter giggled, which almost made up for the blow to Tony’s ego. It was the first happy sound he’d heard the kid make all day. Tony reached out and pulled the kid into his side, pressing a kiss into his hair.

In a fit of absolutely serendipitous timing, Rhodey pulled into the driveway just as Bruce came in for a landing on the expanse of snow that ran from the house down to the lake. The car had barely come to a stop when when Morgan burst out of the backseat and bolted toward the sleigh. 

Tony started toward the steps. This was why he’d gone to all that trouble after all––all those hours while Pep was at work and Morgan was at school and Peter was at MIT, just to see the look on Morgan’s face when she saw the sleigh for the first time, and he’d be damned if he was going to miss it. 

“TONY, NO!” Peter, Pepper, and Rhodey all yelled at the same time. 

“Don’t even think about it, Tony,” Pepper said. 

“You don’t have _shoes_ on,” Peter added. Tony looked down and realized the kid was right––he had on fluffy slippers with handwarmers tucked inside of them. They were fine for the porch, but they definitely weren’t going to withstand the snow. 

So he watched from afar as Morgan ran to Bruce. He scooped her up and set her on his shoulder, just like he’d been doing since she was barely old enough to sit upright. 

“Uncle Bruce, are you _Santa_?” Tony heard her demand loudly, a note of skepticism in her voice. Morgan had always been pretty dubious about Santa as a concept, though the fact that she knew Thor was real at least put Santa into the realm of possibility. 

“I am right now, Mo. Want to go for a ride in the sleigh your daddy made?”

“ _Can I_?” Morgan demanded, looking up at Pepper and Tony on the porch. 

Tony felt Pepper hesitate and knew she was thinking about the laundry list she’d made of things that could still go wrong. Tony reached out, took her hand, and squeezed it. She let out her breath. “Just a short ride, sweetie,” she called. 

“Maybe Uncle Rhodey wants to go,” Tony added. 

Uncle Rhodey did want to go. He made a quick pitstop to put the groceries away and then the three of them climbed into the sleigh. Bruce swung it around. It _could_ take off vertically––it ran off the same thruster tech as Tony’s suits, after all––but that wasn’t how Santa’s sleigh was supposed to take off. He’d built it so its default was to take off at an angle, swooping up and into the clear winter sky over the lake. 

It was pretty great to watch. And it was even better when Bruce brought them in for an easy landing and the sleigh came to a stop. Morgan jumped out and spread her arms wide. “THAT WAS SO COOL!” she yelled. 

“Didn’t she have the flu, like, yesterday?” Peter asked, watching her run in circles, arms out, imitating the swooping of the sleigh. 

“Oh to be young again,” Tony sighed. 

Pepper shook her head. “Peter’s right. If we’re not careful, she’ll wear herself out and get sick all over again. Morgan, come inside and have something hot to drink!” she called. 

Without missing a beat or lowering her arms, Morgan ran up the stairs, past the three of them, and into the house. 

Inside, everyone got hot chocolate, apple cider, or––in Peter’s case––ginger tea. Morgan was too hyped up to drink hers at first, but after about twenty minutes the adrenaline wore off. Tony watched her go from sixty to zero over the course of five minutes, until she ended up snuggled between Tony and Pepper on the foldout, sipping her hot chocolate and blinking tiredly. They’d try and keep her awake through dinner, but there was a good chance she’d fall asleep with her face in her bowl of dumplings.

Peter asked FRIDAY to start up _Harry Potter_ again, and for a while, the only sounds were the voice of the narrator and the low murmur of Rhodey and Bruce making chicken and dumplings. 

All things considered, this wasn’t so bad, Tony thought, looking around at his family––Pepper and Morgan on the foldout with him, Peter curled up in the armchair, Rhodey and Bruce in the kitchen. The tree was lit up, and at some point that afternoon, someone had brought all the presents out and piled them underneath it. There was a fire crackling in the hearth, and the house already smelled good from the chicken stock that was simmering on the stove. 

They didn’t need a huge, over-the-top celebration. This, just this, was enough. This was everything they needed. 

He look at Pepper. Pepper arched an eyebrow at him. “So what did we decide?”

Tony shrugged. “I’m in if everyone else is.” 

“I’m in,” Peter said. 

“Rhodey? Bruce?” Tony asked. 

“Hey, we’re here for whatever you need,” Rhodey said. “If you all are up for it, then we’re up for it.”

“We’re up for it,” Tony said decisively. “Full speed ahead on the Christmas Express.”

Peter cheered, and Morgan echoed it sleepily, probably without really knowing why. Tony dropped a kiss on the top of her head, smiled at Peter, and snuggled down to keep listening. 

***

The next morning––Christmas Eve morning––Tony woke to an unexpected sound. It took him a moment to place it; it had been a long time since he’d last heard it, and he’d never heard it here at the lake house. 

It was a Quinjet. 

Down the hallway, Peter’s door slammed opened and Tony heard him hurry down the hall and take the stairs at a clip. Tony started to sit up and immediately remembered that he couldn’t. Not quickly, anyway. He groaned. “Goddammit. What the hell is going on?”

“MAY!” he heard Peter yell from outside, and Tony relaxed. Oh. That was what was going on. 

Next to Tony, Pepper hadn’t attempted to move yet either. “I thought Fury refused to send a Quinjet for them,” she said. 

“He did.” The phone on Tony’s bedside buzzed. He picked it up and looked at it.

_Merry fucking Christmas, Stark. Never say I never did anything for you._

Tony rolled his eyes. _Thanks, Saint Nick_ , he wrote back. 

_Don’t mention it again._

Tony snorted. “What?” Pepper asked. Tony handed her his phone so she could read the exchange. 

“YOUNG SPIDER,” Tony heard from outside, “IT IS GOOD TO SEE YOU AGAIN!”

“Thor’s here,” Tony reported wryly. 

“No kidding,” Pepper said, laughing. “I guess it’s a full house.”

“I guess so.” Tony sighed. “All right. I’m going to start trying to get out of this bed.”

Rhodey appeared before he’d gotten very far. With his help, getting out of bed went much faster. Tony realized that it had been almost three days now since he’d taken a shower, so he went to do that, while Pepper and Rhodey headed downstairs to get their new guests settled. 

The hot water loosened things up in his back and shoulder, and he was feeling a little better than he had the day before when he came down the stairs. It was a good thing, too, because Tony couldn’t remember ever seeing his living room this crowded. 

Someone had folded up the foldout couch, now that they needed the space. Rhodey, Happy, and Bruce were in the kitchen, planning a massive breakfast. Peter was on the sofa, glued to May’s side, and May was showing photos on her phone to him and Pepper. Morgan was sitting on Thor’s lap in the armchair, talking to him and braiding the beard he’d been growing since the second snap. 

“Stark!” Thor leapt to his feet with Morgan in his arms. “It is good to see you!”

“Careful, Thor,” Bruce warned from the kitchen. 

“Yes, I was told of your unfortunate accident,” Thor said, and hugged him as carefully as Thor ever did anything. “I have brought with me some things that may aid in your healing.”

“Thanks,” Tony said in surprise. “I’m sure Pepper and I would both appreciate that.”

“Definitely,” Pepper said with a laugh. 

“It sounded like you all had a tough week,” May said, standing up to hug Tony herself. 

“I’ve had better,” Tony admitted. 

“It sucked,” Peter clarified.

“It did. But I think we’re all finally on the mend. What’s this now?” Tony asked as Happy came out with a tray of champagne flutes filled with what looked like mimosas. 

“No alcohol for people on muscle relaxers,” Bruce said sternly, looking at Tony. “Or people with concussions.” He looked at Pepper. “Or people who’ve vomited in the last twenty-four hours.” He looked at Peter. 

Tony sighed. “Fine. Orange juice and seltzer, anyone?”

“Yes, please,” Peter grumbled. 

“Me too. Thanks, honey.”

“Me!” Morgan yelled, raising her hand. 

Tony went into the kitchen and took down three more champagne flutes and a clean sippy cup for Morgan. “Hey Hap, welcome back. How was Europe?”

“It was great until we re-enacted _The Day after Tomorrow_ ,” Happy grumbled, poking at the eggs he had cooking in a pan with his spatula. “I think we’re both glad to be home.”

“Well, we’re glad to have you.” Tony glanced into the living room and sat that Peter was snuggled up close to May again. “Really glad.”

Happy actually smiled. _Smiled_. “Thanks, Tony. We’re glad to be back.”

With everyone’s drinks distributed, there was a round of toasts–– _Merry Christmas_ , and _Welcome home_ , and _Hurray, we survived the pre-Christmas plague of 2025!_ They poured another round of mimosas when they were done, but Tony switched to coffee, knowing that if he didn’t, he’d have a headache to add to his list of ailments by two o’clock.

He was standing in the kitchen, drinking his coffee and chatting with Rhodey and Happy, when Thor coughed loudly. Everyone stopped and looking at him. 

“There is one more occasion I wish us to celebrate,” Thor said. Tony blinked, wondering if that was actually _nervousness_ he heard in Thor’s voice. “At least, I hope we will celebrate it. For me, it is cause for celebration.”

He paused. “What is it?” Pepper finally asked. 

“My brother is alive.”

Dead silence. No one said a word. Tony was fairly certain none of them knew what to say; on the one hand, Loki had wreaked serious havoc on Earth, and Tony couldn’t imagine he could be trusted, but on the other hand, they all knew how difficult and prolonged Thor’s grief for his brother had been. 

“I realize this is a shock,” Thor finally said, when everyone continued staring at him. “It was for me as well. He has been in other of the Nine Realms. It was only in my travels with the Guardians that I realized he was still alive.”

Rhodey cleared his throat. “Where is he now?” 

“In New Asgard, under close watch. He will not cause trouble.”

Tony recalled what Pepper had said to him––twice––during the debacle of the last few days. _Famous last words._

“Well,” Bruce finally said. “That is something.”

“It’s something all right,” Tony agreed. “I’m not sure that having him here on Earth is a great idea, Thor.”

Thor looked serious. “I realize that Loki has caused great harm in the past, but I do believe that he has changed.”

“How many times have you thought that before?” Happy asked. 

“A fair few. But with all we have gone through...”

“Wait a moment,” Pepper interrupted. “Thor, how long as Loki been here on Earth?”

“A week or so.”

“Huh.” Pepper looked at Tony. “Loki’s been here a week.”

It took Tony only a few seconds to connect the dots. “Wait. You don’t think...”

“Think about it, Tony.”

“What?” May said. “What’s going on?”

Tony breathed out slowly, then turned to look at Thor. “Happy and May ended up stranded in Europe. Morgan got the flu. Pepper got into a car accident where only she was injured. I fell off the roof. Peter got a stomach bug that none of the rest of us seem to have caught. Thor.” Tony gritted his teeth. “Tell me I’m wrong and your brother didn’t decide to amuse himself while under house arrest by placing a curse on my family.”

Thor opened his mouth, then shut it. “I am going to kill him,” he finally said in a strangled voice. 

“Wait a second,” Rhodey said, “far be it from me to defend Loki, but we don’t really _know_ he’s responsible.”

“Yes, I do,” Thor said, standing. “I know my brother. I should have realized immediately when I heard about the bad luck that had befallen you and yours that it was Loki and his magic.” He turned away, took three steps, and turned back. “The good news is that from what I know about such spells, it will have already run its course. There will be no lasting effects, other than the injuries you sustained, which should heal normally—better than normally, with what I brought.”

“Well, thank goodness for that,” Pepper said.

Thor shook his head. “I must away now to deal with Loki. I am sorry not to be able to stay––I was looking forward to celebrating the holiday with you and distributing gifts to the small ones while dressed as your Yuletide fairy. Banner will have to stand in for me this year.”

“I mean, I can do that,” Bruce said. “But, Thor, hold on for a second. Can’t you call someone else to deal with Loki? Val, maybe?”

“Loki is my responsibility. It has been ever thus.”

“Yeah, and maybe it’s time to spread that responsibility around a bit. The two of you...” Bruce shook his head. “Half of what he does I think is designed just to get your attention. If you turn around and fly back to New Asgard, he will have gotten exactly what he wants.”

Thor hesitated. “But what he has done cannot be allowed to stand unmet.”

“Of course not. But let Val handle it. She’s _actually_ the leader of New Asgard. It’s her job, isn’t it? And she’s scarier than you anyway.”

Thor managed a smile. “That is true.” He turned to look at Tony, Pepper, Peter, and finally down at Morgan, sitting on the floor with a set of her wooden blocks. She’d gotten pretty bored with all the toasting. “You all have been wronged the most by my brother. What would you prefer?”

Tony, Pepper, and Peter looked at each other. Tony had no idea what to stay. 

Then Morgan stood up.“ _I_ think you should stay.”

“Oh? And why is that, Miss Stark?” Thor asked, smiling at her.

“Loki was bad. Why should you be punished?”

“Because he is my brother.”

Morgan put her hands on her hips. “Well, that’s dumb.”

Pepper smiled and reached out to put her hands on Morgan’s shoulders. “Stay, Thor. Let Val handle Loki.”

“I agree,” Peter added.

“Me too,” Tony said, albeit more slowly. “But make sure he knows that if he comes near my family again, he won’t have to worry about you, because I’ll kill him myself.”

“I will tell him,” Thor agreed gravely. “Thank you all. Now if you all will forgive me, I must call New Asgard and speak with Val. I fear what other chaos Loki may be sowing even as we speak.”

“Wait,” Tony said. He held out his hand and wriggled his fingers. “Whatever you brought that’s supposed to help, gimme. I can’t tell you how sick I am of not being able to sit.”

Thor laughed. “Yes, of course, my friend.” He fetched a bag he had dropped by the door. He pulled out a large tub of something. “Use this healing salve tonight on the parts of your body that ail you and allow for at least eight hours of rest. You will be fully recovered come morning.”

“Thanks,” Tony said, accepting it. Thor nodded once and turned away, already pulling out his cell phone.

Cell phone. Thor. Some things were never going to not be weird. 

“I told you,” Peter said, turning to look at Tony. “I told you we were cursed!”

“You did, Pete,” Tony said, ruffling his hair. “Congratulations.”

“God, I’ve missed being home,” May announced. “There’s just never a dull moment. Not that Europe was dull,” she added, smiling at Happy, who had come over to deposit a plate of pastries on the coffee table. 

“Well, I for one am in favor of a little dullness,” Pepper said, reaching for a scone with a wince. 

“Me too,” Tony agreed. He picked up his half-empty coffee cup. “In fact, here’s to a very boring, very normal, totally not-cursed Christmas. May it be free of any excitement whatsoever.”

Everyone laughed, but Tony was serious. He didn’t need supposed-to-be dead demigods meddling in his affairs. This was the adventure now—his family, his kids, his marriage. That was all the excitement he needed or wanted. 

“You literally invented Santa’s sleigh,” Pepper pointed out to him that night as they lay in bed, waiting to fall asleep so the salve could take effect. It smelled a lot like Vicks Vaporub. “Don’t give me any shit about wanting a boring, normal life. I know you better than that.” She turned her head to look at him. “And I wouldn’t have you any other way.”

“Hmm.” Tony decided not to argue. She was usually right, after all. Instead he just smiled at her. “Merry Christmas, Ms. Potts.”

She smiled back. “Merry Christmas, Mr. Stark. Now go to sleep—the kids will be up early.”

_Fin._

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for the awesome 2019, Irondad fandom. I have thoroughly enjoyed myself.


End file.
